Jackie nodded abruptly and he could tell she wasn’t pleased that he should tell her to be quiet but she didn’t say anything. He figured he’d get an earful if they made it down below the river.
Michael looked around and listened. It was in the middle of the night. He couldn’t smell a fire. Sometimes the Boys built a fire with the contents of one of the old houses. They drank whatever hooch they could find—raiding other gangs if necessary—and fired guns into the air and shouted at the moon until dawn. That would have been ideal. If Michael and Jackie were seen by the party, they would be seen by drunks.
No fire meant one of two things. Either there was no one around here or they were out hunting. A bunch of hungry, desperate, sober Long Bottom Boys was about the worst news Michael could think of. There was no hint of sweetness in the air—no mushroom festooned corpses indicating the site of a battle. That was good. The Long Bottom Boys were big on ceremonial mourning and they killed anyone they found. There weren’t many left in Saint Louis but not so few that the Boys couldn’t find someone to kill and then ritually stand over while the mushrooms returned the corpse to the earth.
Michael sweated every foot of the walk to the highway. But the night remained silent.
The highway here was level with the ground but after a mile or two, it rose to a grand promenade looking down on the ruins of the city. Michael whispered to Jackie that now was the time to run (quietly!) if she could.
Jackie didn’t reply. Instead, she lengthened her stride until he had to grab on to her ears to stay on her neck. He looked down and saw the riotous dark of her legs moving on the pavement.
There was a shot behind them in the direction of the park. Jackie stopped and turned around. They saw a flash and a dull boom. Then, gradually like the sunrise, the glow of an increasing fire.
Oh, Michael thought hollowly as he stared at the tips of the flames showing over the trees. That’s what was going to happen to the rhino.
“Come on,” he urged. “People are going to wake up. We need to get near the river before they start looking away from the park.”
The road curved around the south of downtown and then north to reach the river bridges. They could not see the river below them as they crossed but they heard the hiss and rush of the water, the low grunt of the bridge as it eased itself against the flow, the cracks and booms as floating debris struck the pilings.
Then, they were over it and traveling south, the flat farmland on their left, the river bluffs on their right, the road determinedly south toward Cahokia.
Dear Mom,
We reached Cahokia a little before daylite. We could tell we got there by the sign on the highway. I wasnt tired at all. But Jackee was. It must have been hard work walking all that way. Heres something intristing. Eleefants cant run. Jackee told me. They can walk relly fast but they are to big to run.
Jackee still doesnt like me much. She doesnt talk to me unless its to get help figuring out where we are. Mostly she can figur it out. But she needs my hands. I figur one of these days shell leave while I am asleep. So I sav things when I can.
She says we’re going to Tenesee. Howald, Tenesee. There used to be eleefants there. She says she thinks they might be still there. If she doesn’t find them there, she’s going to try to get to Florida. It’s warm all the time down there. There’s lots of food to eat and it’s never winter. That sounds pretty good to me.
I would like to stay with her. She is big and pretty and reel strong. She doesnt talk to me very nice. I dont think she would protek me like Ned did.
I will writ agin tomoro.
love, mike
Michael was surprised that they saw no people in Cahokia. The farmlands he had been thinking of were bounded by weeds but, other than that, looked as if cultivated by invisible hands. They saw no one. The only sounds were the spring birds, the river and the wind. Every few steps they could see a little mound of soil. The mushrooms had all dried up and blown away but these mounds still marked where someone had died.
That first day, when they made camp in a hidden clearing, Michael discovered that Ralph had planned for him to accompany Jackie all along. There was a tent, sleeping bag and all manner of tools: a tiny shovel, a knife, a small bow and arrow, the smallest and most precious fishing set Michael had ever seen. In a flap cunningly designed to be hidden, he found a pistol that fit his hand perfectly. Next to it, separated into stock, barrel, and laser sight, was a high powered rifle. A second flap had ammunition for both, exploding and impact bullets in clearly marked containers. Michael stared at them. He suddenly realized he could take down an elephant with this weapon. Ralph must have known that. The implied trust shook him.
“What did you find?”
Michael realized she hadn’t seen the guns. The pistol was no threat. He pulled it out and showed it to her.
“Do you know how to use it?”
“Yes.” He replaced the pistol. Next to the weapons were Jackie’s vitamin supplements along with finely labeled medicines and administration devices that only a human being could use.
Jackie snorted when she saw it all laid out.
Michael looked at everything, sorted and arrayed in front of him, for a long time. He wondered how long they’d be able to keep such treasures as this. He realized he might need the rifle.
Occasionally between long stretches of young woods and tall fresh meadows, they saw a few manicured fields that were laid out so ruler straight that the two of them stopped and stared. These, Jackie told him, must be tilled by machines. No human or animal would ever pay such obsessive attention to details. But no machines could be seen and even these meticulous rows of corn or soybeans were frayed at the edges into weeds and brambles.
Even so, as tempting as a field of new corn was to Jackie, she was unwilling to chance it. Machines were chancy things, she said, with triggers and idiosyncrasies. Even negotiating with Ralph had been difficult when it went against his programming. Better to wait until they found an overgrown field down the road.
Jackie had no trouble finding food. It had been a wet spring and now that the sun had come out, the older and uncultivated fields sprouted volunteer squash and greens.
They fell into a routine. In the evening, they agreed on a likely spot and Michael took the harness off of her and set up camp. Michael was afraid she might step on him while she slept, so Jackie slept off a little ways from Michael’s tent.
At first light, Jackie went off to find her day’s sustenance. Michael made himself breakfast out of the stores Ralph had left him. He tried his hand at fishing in the tributary rivers of the Mississippi and gradually learned enough to catch enough for a good meal. He tried to eat as much as he could in the morning. It was likely they wouldn’t stop until nightfall.
After he had eaten and before Jackie returned, he waited, wondering if she would come back.
She always did. She eased herself down the bank and drank, knee deep in the river.
Jackie was always impatient to get started and stamped her feet as Michael repacked the harness. Then she made a knee for him and he climbed aboard.
Always they went south. Always as quickly as Jackie could. Hohenwald first, since that was where the elephant sanctuary had been. But continuing South after that, if she didn’t find them. South, she told him, was warm in the winter. South had food all year around.
Michael was amenable. He felt pretty safe. He was well fed. He’d learned the trick of riding Jackie and enjoyed watching the river on the right slip smoothly ahead of them and the land on the left buckle and roll up into bluffs and hills.
Spring turned warm and gentle. Michael felt happier than he could remember up until they reached the spot where the Ohio poured into the Mississippi and the bridge was gone.
They stood on the ramp of Interstate 57 looking down at the wreckage. The near side of where the bridge had been was completely dry. Stained pilings that had clearly been underwater at one point rested comfortably in a grassy field. On the far side, the remains of the bridge had broken off
a high bluff as if the whole southern bank of the river had slid downhill. The river narrowed here, to speed up and pour into the slower moving Mississippi. Huge waves burst into the air as the rivers fought one another. They were over a mile away from the battle, but even from here they could hear the roar.
“The earthquake, maybe?” muttered Jackie.
“Earthquake?”
“About eight years ago the New Madrid fault caused a big quake down here. Ralph told me about it. The scientists had expected it to hit Saint Louis as well but the effects were to the east so we were spared.” Jackie shook her great head and swayed from one side to another. “How are we going to get across now?”
Michael looked at the old atlas. “There’s a dam upstream near Grand Chain Landing.”
“Look at the bridge!” Jackie trumpeted and pointed with her trunk. “It’s just a sample. Look at the river. The dam is probably gone, too.”
Michael looked upstream. “We’ll find something. We just can’t go south for a little while.”
Jackie just snorted. After a moment, she turned slowly toward the east.
Dear Mom,
So far we still haven’t been able to cross the OHIO river. I think it was even bigger than the Missspi. Even at night, we can hear it rushing by. Every now and than, something floats by. Today I saw six trees, a traler and an old house float by. Jackie says it’s becawse of the flud upstreem.
I can tell sumthing is bothering jackie. She hasnt been as mean lately. Its not just that we arnt moving sowth. It is sumthing more.
Love, Mike
As Jackie predicted, the dam was gone. Perhaps the Ohio, powered by spring rains, had ripped apart the turbines and concrete. The ground trembled as the water poured over the remaining rubble.
“Now what?” Jackie said in a soft rumble.
“Could you swim across?” Michael asked doubtfully. “Can’t elephants swim?”
“Look at the water,” Jackie said shrilly. “No one can swim through that.”
“Then not here. How about where the water doesn’t run so fast?”
Jackie didn’t answer.
Michael stared at the map closely.
“There used to be a ferry in Metropolis. Maybe we could get a boat.”
“A ferry?” Jackie turned her head and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “I weigh in at six tons.”
Michael nodded. “A big ferry, then. Couldn’t hurt to look. It’s just a few miles up the road.”
“A ferry,” Jackie muttered. “A ferry.”
The center of Metropolis clustered around a bend in Highway 45. Jackie and Michael followed the signs down to the docks. The shadow of the broken Interstate 24 Bridge fell across the road and in the distance they could see the disconnected ends of the lesser Highway 45 bridge.
A great half sunken coal barge rested against the dock on the right side. The surface of the water was punctured by the rusting remains of antennas poking up from drowned powerboats on the left. Between them nestled the ferry Encantante, incongruously upright and unmangled. A man sat on the deck, whittling. He looked up as they came down the hill.
“Don’t believe I’ve ever seen an elephant down this way before,” he said as he stood up. “What can I do for you?” He was a tall, thin man. Michael couldn’t tell exactly how old he was. His hair was turning gray but his face seemed smooth and unwrinkled. Thirty, thought Michael. Doesn’t people’s hair turn gray when they are thirty? The man was dressed in a red and black plaid jacket against the cool river air.
Michael spoke up before Jackie could respond. He hoped she would remain silent. He was pretty sure talking elephants would be suspicious.
“We need to get across.”
“Do you, now?” He tapped out his pipe against the side of the ferry and refilled it carefully. “My name’s Gerry. Gerry Myers. You are?”
“Michael Ripley. This is Jackie.”
Gerry nodded. “All right then.” He looked at the elephant. “I’ve never put an elephant on my boat. But it can’t weigh much more than four or five of those little cars so it would probably be okay. He won’t jump or move about?”
“Jackie’s a girl.” Michael looked at the water ripping along.
Gerry followed his gaze. “Yeah. ‘She,’ then. She won’t move around? Be a damned shame if she turned over the boat and killed us all.”
“She won’t.”
“Good. Well, then. Since you are the only human being I’ve seen in some months,” Gerry said dryly, “and since I’ve buried everybody else, I’m inclined to think about your proposal.” Gerry looked at him closely. “You’re not sick, are you?”
Michael shrugged. “I feel pretty good.”
“Doesn’t mean much, does it?”
Michael shook his head.
Gerry stared out over the river and sighed. “Yeah. The last good citizen of the Metropolis that had lunch with me said he hadn’t felt this good in months. I went looking for him when he didn’t show up for dinner. He was dead sitting in his kitchen with a smile on his face. Only thing I can say is apparently he died so suddenly he forgot to feel bad about it.”
Gerry lit his pipe and puffed at it for a moment. “Speaking of lunch, I’m a bit hungry. Care to eat with me?”
Michael hesitated.
Gerry pointed at the bluff up the hill from them. “On the other side of that is an old soybean field. Lots of good leafy growth for Jackie. Maybe you could turn her loose and eat with me.”
“I don’t know.” Gerry didn’t look like somebody that would kill him and roast Jackie. Uncle Ned had known who to trust—until the day he didn’t, Michael corrected himself. How could you tell? Michael had a sneaking suspicion he would have to pay for the ride one way or another.
“Well, the field’s there. Suit yourself. I’ll be eating lunch in half an hour or so. In that warehouse looking building over there. Come by if you want to.”
Michael nodded. Jackie turned and started up the hill.
The field was as advertised and there were no visible people around to take advantage of them.
“I’ll eat here. You watch,” said Jackie.
“I’d just as soon go on and have lunch with the old man,” Michael said as he unharnessed her. “We still have to cross the river. Seems like we ought to know something about the other side.”
“I don’t trust him.”
“You don’t trust anybody.” Michael rummaged through the packs until he found the pistol. “I got this.”
“You be careful, then,” Jackie said. “I’ll be coming down there if you try to run off.”
“Yeah. I like you, too.” Michael hefted the pistol. It was heavier than it looked. He made sure it was loaded and checked the action.
Jackie watched him. “Where did you learn to handle a gun?”
“Uncle Ned taught me,” Michael said shortly. “I kept guard when he foraged.”
“Then . . .” Jackie stopped for a moment. “If you had the gun, why didn’t you leave him?”
“It took both of us to stay alive.” Michael released the chamber and made sure the safety was on. He put the gun in his pocket. “He was a lot bigger than I was. He protected me. I helped him. Staying with him made a lot of sense.”
“But he—” Jackie shook her head.
“When the Boys found us he sent me off and took them on by himself.”
Jackie was silent a moment. “So you wanted to leave with me because I’m a lot bigger than you are. I can protect you. Staying with me makes a lot of sense.”
Michael stared at her. “Are you kidding? I’m traveling with six tons of fresh meat. What part of that makes sense to you?”
“Then why did you come with me?”
Michael stood up and didn’t answer. He trotted down the hill toward the landing. Jackie stared after him.
Gerry was cooking in an apartment above the warehouse. The room had a nautical feel to it. Every piece of furniture had been carefully placed. The curtains over the window were a red a
nd white check. The table was an austere gray, with metal legs and a top made of some kind of plastic. The countertops looked similar.
Two plates had been set out. The fork on the left, knife and spoon on the right, napkin folded just so on the plate. Plastic water glasses were set at precisely the same angle for each place setting.
Michael stood in the doorway, not sure what to do. Coming into the room felt like breaking something.
“Come on in,” said Gerry. He was stirring a pot. The contents bubbled and smelled deliciously meaty. “Channel catfish bouillabaisse.” He ladled out two full bowls and handed one to Michael. “Been simmering since this morning. Have a seat.”
They sat across the table and in a few moments, Michael forgot Gerry was even there. He only remembered where he was when the bowl was half empty. Michael looked up.
Gerry was watching him with a smile on his face. “Good to see someone enjoy my cooking. Want some bread? Baked it yesterday.”
Michael broke off a piece. Next to the bread was a small plate with butter. For a long minute, Michael stared, unable to recognize it. Then he remembered and smeared the bread across it.
“Whoa there. Use the knife.”
Michael shrugged, pulled out his small hunting knife and smeared the butter across the bread.
Gerry raised his eyebrows and chuckled. “Fair enough. But next time use the little knife next to the butter.”
Michael sopped up the rest of the soup with the bread and leaned back in his chair, stuffed and happy.
Gerry picked up the bowls and put them in the sink. “Come on down to the porch.”
Michael followed him outside and down the stairs to a part of the dock that jutted over the water. Under an awning, he sat down in a lawn chair while Gerry pulled a box out of the river and opened it. He pulled out two bottles. He gave Michael the root beer and kept a regular beer for himself.
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