“I’m Gem,” she said, offering her wet hand to Dub. “You’re the famous Dub?”
Dub’s brow furrowed with confusion. “Famous?”
She squeezed the water from her ponytail and wiped her hands on her overalls. Her mascara had run, giving her the appearance of an overdone smoky-eye. Even in the rain, her scent carried. It was an oddly enticing mixture of essential oils and wood.
“Barker talks about you a lot,” she said. She nudged Barker with an elbow. “I’m thinking you’re his hero.”
There was that word again. Hero. He didn’t much care for it.
“Well,” said Dub, “I’m sure that’s overstated.”
“Probably not,” she said, talking to Dub as if they’d been longtime friends. “Dude has a man-crush. No doubt.”
Dub clenched his jaw. He didn’t know Gem from pyrite, but she rubbed him the wrong way. Barker was smiling at her, mouthing her words as she spoke. He was entranced and appeared oblivious to Dub’s disinterest in small talk. He started to move toward the man at the back of the jon boat. He was smoking a cigarette in the rain, blowing the smoke upward into his own face, contented.
Gem edged into his path, eyeing him with arched, meticulously waxed eyebrows dewy with rain. “Your girlfriend, Keri is it? She’s at her house?”
“Yes.”
“We should totally go get her. Barker paid the boat dudes with beer. He was saying we could get them to take us to her.” She lowered her voice and leaned into him. “It’s the worst beer. Cheap. I wouldn’t drink it. But it’s beer, right?”
He exhaled, wiped the rain from his face with the back of his arm, and faked a smile. Whatever he might have found cute or exotically attractive about her had washed off of him as soon as it had stuck.
Fortunately, the mother of the family he’d escorted interrupted them.
“I’m sorry,” she said, touching his arm. “I don’t mean to interrupt. I wanted to thank you. The store clerk is going to let us rest here for a while. They think the National Guard is on its way with some big trucks.”
She squeezed his arm and offered him a grateful smile peppered with sadness he imagined was tattooed onto her face. Dub placed his hand on hers, returned the momentary affection, and wished her well.
Gem began to speak again. Dub held up a finger and winked at her politely, suggesting she hold her thought, and he sloshed to the boat. He waved as he approached, drawing a suspicious blow of smoke from the man at the motor.
“My friend Barker said you might be willing to take us to my girlfriend’s house,” he said. “Would that be okay?”
The man, who at first seemed wary, softened. He smiled under the steeply curled brim of a purple and gold baseball cap. Then he nodded, took a final drag from the cigarette, sucking in his cheeks, and flicked the butt into the rising water.
“I’d be happy to help.” He exhaled, his words swirling the smoke that seemed like mist in the rain. “Sure thang,” he said with a Southern drawl as pronounced as any Dub had ever heard in Houston. “Your buddy paid us up with a case, so we’re good. You hop in and we’ll make a run. You just give me turn by turn on the way and we’ll figure it out.”
Dub stepped forward with his hand extended. “I’m Dub. Thanks so much.”
“Not at all,” said the man. “I’m Louis. This is Frank.”
Frank, a wiry man with close-cropped hair, was sitting in the front of the boat and finishing a pull on a can of beer. He nodded, swallowed hard, and raised the can. “S’up.”
“Hey,” said Dub. He turned and called to Barker over his shoulder, “Let’s go. It’s only going to get worse.”
Dub, Barker, and Gem climbed into the boat, each of them taking seats on the wide benches that braced the shallow-drawing aluminum craft. Frank stepped out and held onto the bow, turning the boat around and tugging it out away from the parking lot. When he was knee deep, he hoisted himself back into the boat. It was then Dub noticed both of their hosts were wearing hip waders.
Louis took the rudder stick on the motor and pulled it toward his body as the fourteen-foot boat jerked forward. They were under way.
“You tell me where to turn,” said Louis, thumping Dub on the shoulder. “I ain’t much for street names. Some I know; some I don’t.”
Dub had taken the seat closest to Louis. Dub was in front of him and to the left. Barker and Gem sat next to each other at the center of the boat. Frank was in the front on the right.
“You’re going to go straight for a while,” he said, trying to recall distances. He remembered street names, but in the dark he couldn’t see them any more than he could see the street under the black water.
“Hey,” said Louis, as if reading his mind, “take this. It’ll help.”
Dub took a flashlight from Louis’s outstretched hand. It was cold from the air and wet from the rain. He ran his hand along it to strip away the beads of water clinging to its metal battery compartment. He punched the button on its handle and, without thinking about it, looked directly at the bezel. A bright collection of LED lights nearly blinded him.
Dub squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head from the blinding error.
Louis chuckled. “I’ve done that,” he said affably. “Stings, don’t it?”
Dub rubbed the afterimage from his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He nodded and readjusted his eyes to the night.
The rain hadn’t subsided or given any hints that it might be letting up. It was a steady shower emanating from some invisible faucet high above without anyone to shut off the tap. It had gotten to the point, despite the discomfort and cold, the rain wasn’t annoying anymore. Dub was so soaked through that more rain wasn’t even an issue. He aimed the light up and out, away from the boat. He scanned the night, the sheets of rain the only thing visible at times, searching for street signs.
Occasionally he’d lower the white beam toward the water. From his seat aboard the jon boat, he couldn’t determine how much higher the flood had risen. As the beam skipped across the black roil and bounced off the rounded tops of mailboxes or the fogged windows of curb-parked cars, it was apparent the tub was filling and the drain was stopped.
The farther they traveled in the murk, slowly advancing along the streets-turned-canals, the oil-burning odor of the puttering motor became more overwhelming. It consumed Dub’s senses: the mix of fuel and grease, cold rain and stress.
“Straight?” asked Louis as they approached an intersection.
Dub angled the beam up to find the sign. He didn’t recognize either name. “Keep going, please.”
Barker and Gem were sitting against each other now, hip to hip. She leaned into him, and he had his arm around her waist. They were talking to each other, their voices inaudible over the sputter and gurgle of the motor. Frank was on his knees with a flashlight, checking for any obstacles in the water ahead.
“Turn up here,” Dub said, spotting the right street. “Left.”
“Got it.” Louis maneuvered the boat, cranking the rudder handle hard to the right.
The boat’s bow slid to the left, and the intersecting street came into view, as much as it could have given the rain and the dark. Frank’s light, aiming directly in front of the boat, cast a dim cone into the inky distance. Ahead of them, another boat came into view. It was more of an inflatable pontoon, its engine whirring and its bow pitched out of the water, carrying eight people on its cramped deck. The pilot nodded at them as they passed each other. None of the shivering passengers, no doubt waterlogged survivors leaving behind their homes, said a word. Although none even looked up, Dub could see the shock and horror in their blank faces. They were a half a mile from Keri’s house.
“Surprised we ain’t seen more like that,” said Louis. “I figure—”
“Help!” The voice was distant but close enough that the call was clear. It sounded like a young woman. “Help!” she cried again, her voice warbling through the din of the rain.
“That’s just ahead,” Frank said. “I can see
someone waving a light stick.”
“You mind?” Louis asked Dub.
“Of course not,” said Dub.
Frank held his light toward the glow stick he could apparently see. Louis directed the boat in the light’s path. The closer they got, the higher Frank aimed the cone of light. The glow stick, which was waving back and forth, was elevated high above the ground.
“Help!” called the woman excitedly. “Do you see me? Can you? I’m up here. Up here!”
Dub narrowed his focus, following the beam of light until he saw the woman. The shape of a woman, that was, waving her arms above her head, the bright pink glow stick waving, became clearer. He thought at first she was on her roof, seeking a perch above the water that was now at the eaves of single-story homes in this part of the city. But as they drifted closer, the boat pitching up and down from the current, he saw she wasn’t on the roof. She wasn’t anywhere near a house. She was in a tree, straddling the wide, strong branch that extended perpendicular from the thickly aged trunk of a commanding oak.
“Hold on!” Frank called, one hand cupped at his mouth. “We see you. We’re coming.”
Barker glanced over his shoulder at Dub, his jaw slack. He was shivering, his teeth chattering, and he appeared as bewildered as Dub had ever seen him.
“I can’t believe this,” he said. “How deep the water is. You see we just passed overtop a car?”
Dub nodded. “We’ll be okay,” he told his friend, saying it to convince himself as much as anyone else on the boat. “We’ll be okay.”
Louis skillfully maneuvered the boat, working the tiller handle of the outboard, twisting the throttle as he tried to get the boat as close to the tree as possible. He was feet from it, so close Dub saw the wide-eyed fear in the face of the woman above him.
Frank was calling out to her, calming her, reassuring her. He directed her to keep hold of the branch, to wrap herself around it like she was riding a bull. “And don’t let go until I tell you.”
She nodded vigorously and whimpered while she adjusted her arms and tightened her elbows against the sides of the branch.
And then, if it were possible, the rain intensified. Without warning, the drops grew heavier and colder. The speed with which they fell from the milky-black sky accelerated. The sound of the barrage slapping the water became deafening, like the thunderous applause of a crowd too large for a small auditorium.
A gust of wind buffeted the port side of the skiff. Dub nearly lost hold of the flashlight as he tried to grip the bench with his free hand to keep himself from falling over. Another gust of wind blew past them.
The boat swung wildly to one side, and the stern slammed into the oak’s unforgiving trunk. The crash vibrated violently through the boat, shaking Dub’s body.
“Hold on!” Louis shouted as he tried to settle his course. But the water now was flowing differently, more angrily ferociously, like a dam was opened somewhere upstream.
The boat swung around again in a cyclonic pattern, slapping the side of the oak a second time. The woman above called out with an urgent voice. Dub couldn’t understand her words. He was focused on staying inside the boat as the water overpowered its small motor.
He dropped the flashlight and grabbed both sides of the boat as if to steady its hull himself, looking up in time to see the woman dangling from the branch, her arms stretched as far as her weight would extend them. He shot a look at Frank, who was trying to wave her off. She didn’t listen. She dropped what had to be eight feet to the boat. Her body caught the side of it and tipped it precariously to one side. Dub’s grip wasn’t enough to hold him, and the blast of momentum shot him from his seat, slamming him into the cold, black water. Somehow, he managed to steal a breath of air as he tumbled headfirst overboard, falling tumultuously into the black turbulence. The hull raked across his back as the jon boat somehow righted itself. He struggled underneath it, unable to surface. They were both carried together in the increasingly strong current.
His heart racing, Dub struggled not to suck in a deep breath. His chest burned. He was blind. And then the boat was gone.
Not again. Not again. Not again.
His memories surfaced and flooded his mind. Water everywhere, cold, relentless rain, the darkness of night.
He tumbled in the blackness, weightless, and powerless to find his bearings. He wasn’t sure which direction was toward the surface. Something sharp scraped against his leg. He grabbed for it and groaned, feeling the bubbles slide against his chin. The bubbles. They told him he was upside down.
He flipped himself over in the dark water. He couldn’t know whether it was three feet deep or ten. Still, he righted himself and extended his legs beneath him. They didn’t touch ground, but he kicked with both feet, fluttering as hard as he could, grabbing for the surface, reaching up with one arm and then the other, pulling himself toward breathable air.
His head dizzied; his vision blurred. Then he realized he wasn’t swimming upward after all. He couldn’t be. The water wasn’t that deep. He wasn’t swimming downward either. He’d have hit the ground. And then he did. His hands slid against the familiar muddy grass that had sucked in his bare feet an hour earlier. His fingers stuck into the muck, and cold mud filled the spaces underneath his fingernails.
He was out of air. His muscles quivered. The sensation of losing consciousness began to take hold, but having oriented himself, Dub found his footing and pushed against the muck with both feet, propelling himself upward at an angle toward the surface. He kicked, pulled, and shook his head, trying to fend off the pain as the final remnant of bubbles escaped from his mouth.
At last he surfaced. He thrashed against the water and gasped, sucking in both air and water. He coughed and spat the foul water from his mouth. He treaded water, breathing in and out with effort, until he’d regained control and left the panic behind.
Then he spun around, kicking his legs. His vision was blurred, by the torment of oxygen deprivation or from the water in his eyes. His breathing slowed to something closer to normal. He drew a hand from the water and wiped his eyes. As soon as he began to take stock of where he was, he felt a pinch on the back of his neck. And then another. Before he could slap at it, there was one on his ear. And on the back of his head.
He slapped at his neck, trying to tread water with one hand, and felt the bite on his hand. Then another. And another. Now the bites were hot. They stung. And there were more of them. All over his neck, the back of his hand, his jaw. The pain was spreading, deepening.
Fire ants!
Dub sucked in a quick breath and dunked himself under the water. He ran his hands across his neck and head and face frantically, washing his hair free of the ants. The poison bites swelled into a range of bumps across his neck and ears. He winced at the burning sensation throbbing across his raw skin, blowing out the water he’d stored in his lungs.
He flattened himself underwater and then swam deeper a couple of strokes before he resurfaced away from the ants. He pulled himself back to the surface, emerged, and shook the water from his face. He touched the back of his neck. The swelling had spread to the sides of his neck and across the tops of his ears. He scanned the water around him. Several feet away, where he’d been, he saw a floating ant pile, undulating but keeping its shape in the rain as it cruised the floodwaters. The top of the pile was swarming with angry, confused ants. Dub leaned back in the water and kicked himself farther away from the threat.
He cursed the pain and tried to refocus on the task at hand.
“Barker?” he yelled. His voice sounded flat, as if the pouring rain sucked it into a vacuum. “Barker!”
There was no answer. He listened for the sound of the skiff’s motor, praying for the familiar rumble of its twenty horsepower. He heard nothing.
He sighed, exasperated and exhausted, treading water. There was no use searching for Barker or the jon boat. He needed to get to Keri. If the water was this deep so close to her street, there was no telling the conditions at her home.
He swam slowly, bobbing in the water and occasionally spitting the rainwater from his face, until he found a street sign only a foot or two above his head. It was an intersection a block from Keri’s street. He took a deep breath, his chest stinging, and resolved to move faster. He leaned forward and began kicking. He kept his head above the water, except for his chin, swimming with effort.
His arms churned like a lifeguard hurrying out to a rescue. He cupped his hands and pulled them through the water at his sides, propelling himself forward. He was getting closer. Every stroke, every kick, every throb of the pain on his neck and ears brought him closer to Keri.
Hero.
That word stuck in his mind as he churned through the flood, hoping he would find his girlfriend high and dry, though he knew the idea of anything being high or dry right now was unlikely.
CHAPTER 9
April 5, 2026
New Orleans, Louisiana
Lane Turner was sitting at the bar, watching the weather report and nursing his second drink, when his phone buzzed, rattling against the mahogany bar. He cursed when he saw the number on the screen and slapped back the remnants of melted ice and liquor.
“Lane Turner,” he answered, knowing it was the executive producer of the eleven o’clock newscast.
“Lane?” asked the voice on the other end of the line. “How’s it going?”
“Fine,” said Lane, resenting the false pleasantry. He knew they wanted something from him. He glanced at the flashing bright colors on the weather map that filled the television on the wall behind the bar, awaiting confirmation.
“Good. So here’s the deal. We’re going to need you to give us a live shot tonight. Nothing big, just a straight live.”
“Standing out in the rain?”
“Exactly,” said the EP. “This storm is looking bad. The network says there’s flooding. People are being evacuated already.”
“Uh-huh.”
“We were thinking if you could give us a scene setter, tell us what’s going on around you. It’s raining where you are, right? Where are you? The hotel?”
The Alt Apocalypse {Book 3): Torrent Page 8
