Ronald stepped forward. “Because, Selma, as you can see, there’s no more room.”
“There is always more room,” growled Trudy.
“Momma—” Jenson began.
“Trudy,” said Ronald, “we agreed to abide by the will of the majority.”
“The will of the…” Selma studied the people in the dimness, taut faces shiny with fear. All white. And she knew every one of them, knew more about them than even their own families did. Secrets, they told them all to Selma. They had to, if they wanted her help. No one else knew Warren Hickson had another wife and child in Fort Lauderdale, who he visited every two weeks. No one else knew Cyril’s mother, after her eleventh child, put saltpeter in her husband’s coffee. No one else knew Ed Henderson spent all his time on the Princess because he was fascinated by one of the deckhands. The secrets twinkled in their eyes, little pinpricks of light. “And what might that be, Mr. LeJeune?”
Nathan began to wail, as if to remind them he was there. Missy soothed him. “Quiet now, my boy. We safe now.”
But Marilee Henderson reached for him. “Give him to me, Missy. You’re done in.”
“He fine,” said Missy and shifted him higher on her shoulder. Her limbs shook with exhaustion, but he weighed nothing as far as she was concerned. She would carry him forever if need be. “We got this far together. We fine,” she said firmly.
Ronald turned to Selma. “You must see the sense of it. The shelter isn’t big enough to hold everyone, so we have to choose.” He paused, as if unsure what to say next. “So I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is. We decided, all of us.” He gestured to include the whole room. No one spoke. He cleared his throat. “The coloreds…you folks, will have to go.”
“Go? Go where, Mr. LeJeune? You know what it’s like outside. You’d send us out into that banshee storm?”
Violet sniffed. Abe wiped his nose on her skirt. Lionel put his twig-like arm around her shoulders.
Cynthia said, “Ronnie, can’t we—”
“You know we can’t, Cindy,” he said quietly.
The wind slammed into the building. The force was like the impact of a solid object. Water sprayed through the walls. The lanterns went out. Children cried out in the dark, and women screamed. Someone turned on a flashlight.
“This isn’t our way,” said Jenson. “These people are our neighbors. We’ll make room. We’ll—
“You idiot, you’ll kill us all!” said Ronald. “We made a decision, all of us.” The bandage on his cheek cast strange shadows on his face, like it was some kind of malignant growth. The crying subsided into quiet sobs. “It’s agreed. We all agreed.”
Ike stepped forward into the circle of light. “I should have finished you when I had the chance.” There was no mistaking the menace in his voice.
A metallic click. “Take one more step, Ike,” said Ronald. “Just one more.” The flashlight’s weak beam glowed dully on the barrel of the revolver. “I don’t want it to be this way. It doesn’t have to be this way. Not if you go now. Please. Just go.”
Selma looked around but no one met her eyes. The store shook like a die in a cup. Her skin prickled with the electric tingle of imminent panic. She stared into each face, willing each to remember this moment. Her gaze settled last on Jenson, who looked like a man torn apart from the inside.
She straightened her shoulders. “We going,” she said. “And when we gone, y’all best think on how you gonna explain this to your Maker. Because you be seein’ him soon, I promise you that. Real soon.” On her way past Jenson, she murmured, “For shame.”
“Where’s Mama?” cried Missy in desperation. “Anyone seen my Mama?”
Violet said, “I ain’t seen her since she went to Doc’s.”
Missy buried her face in Nathan’s neck. Marilee stepped forward. “Missy,” she said gently, “you’ve got to leave the baby here, with us. He belongs here. He’ll be safe here.”
“No! No, you cain’t. I won’t let you. I—”
But Selma took him from her arms and handed him to Marilee. Nathan howled in distress, stretched pudgy hands out to Missy, and kicked his feet. Selma said, “She right, Missy. You got to leave him. These his people. And he safer here.”
And with that, Selma opened the door to…silence.
Traitorous stars shone within a circle of swirling cloud. Their light touched only water, as far as she could see, punctuated by a few blasted trees and pieces of wood, where there should be dry land. Houses, businesses. Just piles of timber and crushed concrete.
“It over!” shouted little Abe. “We can go home now!”
“It ain’t over,” said Selma. “We under the eye.” She made a quick study of the circle of clear sky above them. It was devilishly small, which meant the back side of the hurricane would be upon them soon. She reckoned they had maybe twenty minutes. Probably less. There was only one place she could think of where there might still be room to shelter. “Run, everyone!” she yelled. “Make for the station! Get in them boxcars quick, and stay there!”
“But what about Mama?” said Missy. “I gotta find Mama.” She clutched at her empty, Nathan-less arms. “I got to find her.” Her bare feet stumbled around in an aimless circle.
“Missy!” But she did not seem to hear. Selma took her by the shoulders and shook her, hard. Missy’s eyes were wild with grief, her mind poisoned by it. She had lost too much, too fast. Doc’s office was not far. While things were calm, she had time to get there and back. Just about enough time. To be caught in the open, once the eye passed over, was… Well, no time to think on that now. Despite the humid heat, Selma shivered. “I’ll find her if she at Doc’s. You take the others to the station. You hear me? Get in them boxcars and don’t come out, not for anything, you understand?” Missy acknowledged her with a nod. “Come on, girl,” Selma said. “MOVE!”
As Selma’s splashes faded into the distance, Missy looked around at the scared, tired faces of the others refused a place in the store. Old Lionel looked about ready to drop, but he had an arm around a tearful Violet. Something was wrong with Ike. He seemed to be arguing with someone who wasn’t there. None of the others were in much better shape. Several had already been hurt on the way to the store.
She didn’t want to run anymore. She wanted to be alone, with her memories of Nathan and Henry, and pray for Mama and wait for Selma.
They all stood in a miserable huddle, looking expectantly at her.
A small hand tugged at hers. Abe said, “Selma say you take us.”
“Go on,” she said. “I be along soon.”
But Abe would not release her hand. He began to pull her in the wrong direction. The rail yard was not too far, maybe two miles away, but it would be easy to get lost in the darkness with all the familiar landmarks gone. For her whole life, she’d had an unerring ability to find her way, wherever she needed to go. So much so that the other kids used to leave her deep in the swamp to see if she made it home, and she always did. Just about the only learning she ever got from Billy was how to steer by the stars, but more than that, she could always tell the right way from the wrong way by how it felt.
She cast a look at the sky. The storm’s eye had begun to move away. Nothing but darkness behind.
“Not that way,” she said. “This way.”
And just like that, they were off.
• • •
Dwayne had lost his bearings. Impossible to do, he would have said, a few hours before. They should have reached the store by now, but the absence of landmarks meant they could have been driving in circles. There was no beach to use as a reference point. All was wind-whipped water, in every direction.
The truck’s wheels thumped into something hard. He tried to back up but there was only the grind of metal on metal. And then a wave broke over the hood and poured into the cabin. They were submerged up to their waists. With an angry hiss of steam, the e
ngine died.
Noreen’s eyes told him she understood what it meant. They would have to make it on foot. He would carry both her and Roy. She was far too slender to stand up to the current that barged against the side of the pickup.
Just as he was considering the logistics of this, all went quiet. There were splashes as airborne objects dropped into the water, like puppets with their strings cut. His ears rang with the absence of sound. No wind. Nothing.
He leaned out of the window and looked up to see the malevolent eye circling slowly above them. With each turn, it brought a new bout of destruction closer. The back side of the storm could only be minutes away. Once it arrived, they would have no chance in the open. They would have to stay in the flooded truck.
But Noreen was struggling to open her door. “Come on,” she said. “We cain’t stay here. We got to be close to the store by now.”
He pulled her hand away. “We have to stay here! There’s more coming. The truck is big and heavy enough to hold together. Noreen, it’s the only way.”
Too tired and scared even to cry, Roy had made no sound for some time. His dark eyes were alternately wide with fear and droopy with fatigue. The supplies so carefully packed for him floated in a sodden mess around them.
“We got to get Roy inside,” she said. “He’s hungry and thirsty.”
“Hang on,” said Dwayne and plunged his hand into water around his feet. He felt around until his fingers found the outlines of a milk bottle and raised it from the black water with a smile of triumph. “Here you go, my boy.”
Roy sucked on the bottle without stopping until it was half-empty.
“That’s better,” said Noreen and wiped off his milky mustache. She kissed his cheek. “Hard to believe it ain’t over,” she said. “It looks so calm out there now.”
Indeed, without the wind and with the water smoothing over the damage, what was left of Heron Key looked placid, even serene in the starlight. But Dwayne knew beneath the surface lay the wreckage of buildings, homes, and lives. Probably many lives.
“Noreen…” he began. How to start? It felt like there was too much to say and not enough words to say it. “I’m—I’m sorry. I mean, for everything, for—”
“I know, Dwayne,” she said and squeezed his hand. It was the first time he had felt her touch for months, maybe since Roy was born. “I’m sorry too.”
Something bumped against his door. He looked out of the window and down into the sightless eyes of Dolores Mason, who floated on her back, her red lipstick black against the gray pallor of her face. The current pushed her body into the side of the truck with a solid thwack.
“What is it?” Noreen asked.
“Nothing,” he said and sent Dolores on her way with a hard shove. “Just a branch.”
• • •
The veterans arrived at the train station to find it dark and empty. Trent peered up the tracks for sight of the locomotive’s headlight, but there was only rain and wind screaming in the blackness. It should be here by now. Something’s gone wrong. In the pale flashlight beam, he could see waves lapping the embankment, which was the highest point on Heron Key. Carl was unconscious and Stan was on the way there, moaning in pain. The post remained in his stomach, on Trent’s instructions. He had seen too many men bleed out when such projectiles were extracted by well-meaning comrades. His only chance of survival was to leave the wooden stake right where it was until they could get medical attention…which could be a long time.
A gust caught the roof and tore half of it away. The rest of the structure began to tremble. The realization struck him that even the solidly constructed station would not protect them for much longer. They had to move. He swept the flashlight across the yard. An empty train stood on the siding. The heavy boxcars would be safer while they waited. Assuming, of course, the wait was not long. Where is that damn train?
But it was going to be tricky to get the men inside, given the strength of the wind. They would have to form a chain to make it across. He explained the plan to the men nearest to him and hoped the rest would follow.
Big Sonny was the first to attempt the crossing. He stepped off the platform into the full force of the wind and was blown off his feet and left clinging to the rail. The rest of the men hung back, unwilling to follow, especially those without the advantage of Sonny’s bulk.
The remainder of the station began to disintegrate around them. This was clearly too much for Two-Step, who hollered, “I’m not staying here! There’s no train coming for us.”
“We’ve been left here to die!” said Sick Bay. “We’ve got to save ourselves!”
“Wait!”
It was the one they called “Kraut.” Trent struggled to recall his real name. Mick? Mo? No, Max. Max Hoffman.
“Mr. Watts is right,” said Max. He stood between Two-Step and the edge of the platform, hands spread wide. “Everyone just stay calm. We’re safer waiting here. We’ve got to stick together and—” A chunk of masonry flew right into the side of his head, and he was felled like a tree. He landed on his back, eyes unseeing and open to the rain.
Angry voices surged around Trent. Wet, terrified faces jostled, ghostly in the flashlight’s beam. He recognized the smell from the trenches: fear had overwhelmed some of their bladders. He could see Two-Step’s point entirely. It looked like he had led them into a death trap. “No!” he shouted. “That’s not true, I promise you—”
“Another lie!” said Two-Step. “We can make it, fellas! Look, over there. Shannon’s filling station!” The concrete building was maybe a hundred yards away. Part of the roof was gone, but the walls were intact. “Who’s with me, boys?”
Trent figured there was room for maybe twenty people inside—if they made it across the open ground, which did not look likely. Huddled on the platform were close to two hundred men. And how long before the wind flattened that structure too? No, he had to stop them. He made one last attempt. “Wait, I’ve got a plan—”
But it was too late. A group of men jumped down with Two-Step, running toward the gas station. When they were almost halfway there, one of the fuel pumps took to the air and slammed into them. Several bodies lay unmoving, facedown in the dirty water. Another grabbed hold of a telephone pole and clung there grimly. The wind simply lifted the pole from the ground and sent it hurtling into the sky. Two-Step let out a high, girlish scream as a piece of window glass cleaved right through his thigh. He fell, then tried to get up, but the wind pushed him down again. He grabbed the severed leg and began to pull himself through the mud.
Trent could see his mouth screaming “Help me!” over and over, but no one moved.
Two-Step flailed on, like some deranged swimmer, sliding in the mire. And then the wind lifted him up and carried him away into the night. A few men made it to the gas station. The remainder of his group flung themselves behind the bulk of a massive water tanker, still full of ten thousand gallons.
When Trent turned to face the rest of the men still waiting, they appeared ready to follow him almost anywhere.
“What’s the plan?” asked Sick Bay.
On the other side of the platform, Sonny had managed to regain his feet and reach the boxcar. He grabbed hold with one hand and stretched the other toward the waiting men. Trent set about getting the biggest ones onto the tracks first. They would have to carry the wounded. The dead would be left where they lay.
“Sick Bay, grab hold of Sonny,” Trent yelled. “The next one grab hold of Sick Bay, and so on, until we get a solid line of men. The others use them to cross. Got it?”
Sick Bay set off toward Sonny. He was blown over twice but got up each time. A cheer went up when he clasped Sonny’s outstretched hand. Others followed, and soon the line was complete. Men began to cross, holding their comrades for support.
Jeb stared wide-eyed. Each man had to fight his way across, and they were all easily twice as heavy as him. “G
uess this is the last stop for me,” he said in Franklin’s ear.
“Come here,” said Franklin. “Get on my back.”
Jeb climbed on, arms tight around Franklin’s neck. “All aboard,” said Franklin. And he stepped off the platform, to be met by waiting hands.
Franklin stumbled. Jeb clung on, eyes narrowed. The wind clawed at his shoulders, tried to loosen his arms and pull him off. Franklin held on, legs wide apart to maintain his balance. He took another step along the line, which swayed under the might of the gale. It was clear that Jeb’s weight was holding him back. Jeb knew what he had to do. He loosened his grip on Franklin’s neck. Franklin’s eye swiveled around in surprise, his lips formed to say, “No!”
Jeb closed his eyes and let go. A big hand grabbed his collar and wrenched him from the wind’s grasp. He just had time to register Lemuel’s grin before he was flung bodily into the safety of the boxcar.
Chapter 22
On the relief train, still several miles away, Ken Cramer stared through the deluge. He nudged the locomotive forward, as much by touch as by vision. It was impossible to gauge the depth of the water covering the tracks. Moses, Clarence, and Henry leaned out of the windows with no more success. “Can’t see a goddamn thing,” Moses complained.
“Fellas,” said Ken, “this is about to get real interesting.”
After they had freed the train from the crane’s cables, it had sped south to collect veterans from two other work camps on its way to Heron Key. It had been a slow and dangerous operation just to get them on board, as the wind lifted people right off their feet. Included in the wet huddle of humanity were a few locals who had decided, with uncharacteristic alacrity, to evacuate as well.
Shouting came to the engineer’s cabin from the passenger carriage. Ken dispatched Henry. “Go calm them down, Roberts. You’re one of them.”
Under a Dark Summer Sky Page 24
