Misisipi

by Michael Reilly

  “Nah.” He shook his head.

  “What?” Stencek called out.

  The tarp was thick heavy plastic, rough pebble-textured. Scott staggered to the front of the Navigator and passed the light over the writing on the tarp, tilted his head to read properly. He laughed, immediately understanding everything.

  “What?” Mike shouted again.

  Scott came around and saw Mike’s side of the Navigator. “Oh shit.”

  “Yeah, I puked. Sorry.”

  “S’ok. It’s your ride.”

  “It’s not good for the paint job.”

  Scott looked back and forth along the mangled bodywork. “You’re cool. Hardly notice it really.”

  Mike nodded. He could clearly see a red welt where the wheel had connected with Scott’s forehead. He doubted Scott even realized. He was grinning back at Mike.

  “What’s so funny?” Mike asked.

  “Guess where we are.”

  “Where?”

  “Six Flags, man. Don’t that beat all?”

  He pointed past Mike and directed the powerful flashlight into the distance. Mike turned. Barely visible against the black sky, the thrill rides of Six Flags Across New Orleans rose above them; biggest of all, the main rollercoaster, like the bones of some Jurassic giant mired in the bayou, its flesh long since stripped by the hurricane’s wrath.

  As if sensing them, the great structure sighed on its joints, an iron bray that made Scott take a spooked step back.

  “Gimme your knife,” he asked Mike.

  “Why?”

  “This thing is tangled top and bottom. I need to cut it away.”

  “What the hell is it?”

  “You’ll see,” he smirked.

  Scott climbed onto the runner board and cut loose the binds around the roof spots. He came down and hacked through the plastic around the wheels, pulled the whole length of tarp free, and flipped it over. It was about 30 feet long.

  Settling back in the driver seat, he appreciated that forward visibility had improved from impossible to challenging, a spider’s web of cracks across the entire windshield.

  “You gonna tell me what happened then?” Mike asked.

  “I’m not sure I wanna say the term aloud.”

  “Say what?”

  “We oughta be dead.”

  “No shit. Those cables wouldn’t have cleared the rack. It’s bolted on like a bitch. So why we still here?”

  “I think the tarp hit us first.”

  “Hit us? How? From where?”

  “I don’t know. It just… did. It went under and the wheels held it, and the other end hit the rack and snagged on.”

  “Just like that, huh?”

  “Yes! Just like that. And the tires pulled it tight and it just… snapped to.” Scott held his hand flat out, palm down and tilted it upward. He swept his other hand up and over his slanted fingers. “Like a shield. I think the cables just ran… right over us.”

  Mike snorted. “Yeah right. It just flew in at the right time to the right place in the right way. You’re full of shit, Jameson! And we just coasted to a lucky stop right here? Hey, this doesn’t look like the interstate.”

  “It’s not. Somehow we came down the off-ramp back there.”

  “What term don’t you wanna use?”

  Scott coughed and mumbled.

  Mike said, “Say again?”

  “I said… act of God.”

  “Goddamn miracle huh? We still have spots then?”

  “Nope. All busted.” Scott gripped the ignition keys. “Doesn’t matter. We just took 50,000 volts up there. She’s probably cooked.”

  “She’ll start,” Mike snapped.

  Scott turned the key. Nothing happened—no console, no splutter, nothing. “Told ya.”

  Mike mouthed a silent plea to Saint Christopher. “Again.”

  Nothing.

  Scott took a deep breath. He thought about Julianna, how much he needed to tell her about their miracle escape. He turned the key.

  Something under the hood knocked and whined. “Yes! C’mon you bitch, c’mon!” Mike roared.

  Scott pumped the gas and kept keying it. The engine complained as it tried to catch.

  “Come on!” they screamed in unison.

  A weak rattle shuddered through the system under them. The engine neighed, belched, and sprang feebly to life. The headlights flickered fully on.

  Scott softened his foot on the gas pedal and let the Navigator breathe easier. He tipped his head against the wheel and whispered a ‘Thank You’. Mike planted a sloppy wet one on the dash. “Mwah!”

  The console display was completely dead. “Sat-Nav?” Scott asked.

  Mike checked. “No.”

  “Do we go back up to the interstate?”

  Mike’s eyes widened. “No way. I’m done playing chicken with this bitch. I’ll take my chances on the surface streets.”

  “Ok, let’s get rambling.” Scott did a wide turn and stopped alongside the tarp for Mike to see for himself.

  Mike looked out the window and read the logo emblazoned across it.

  He erupted with laughter, cackling like a crack-whore. “Ain’t that the truth!”

  Farther down the avenue, they found the old road back to the city. As the directions board passed overhead, Scott turned to Mike.

  “You think it’s a sign?”

  “Yeah. A road sign. Just cause you found God, don’t mean you have to go all ‘Moses Supposes’ with it.”

  “Ok.”

  Scott steered the Navigator toward Almonaster Boulevard.

  Chapter 45

  02:41 am CDT, Katrina -3 Hours

  On the outskirts of downtown, they rounded a bend and Scott was instantly forced to brake hard. Farther down the road, a red-and-blue lightshow strobed above the roofs of several police cruisers strung across the road. The Navigator slewed to a stop and he revved as it threatened to stall.

  “Shit,” he hissed.

  Before he could react, a searchlight came alive from the curb closer-to and shone directly through their windshield.

  “Driver! N-O-P-D!” an amplified voice shouted. “Kill ya lights!”

  “What do we do?”

  “Like the man says. Lights out,” Mike advised.

  Scott cut the headlights.

  “Come to!” the voice through the speakers boomed. “Nice and slow.”

  Scott engaged Reverse.

  Mike put his hand across Scott’s arm. “Don’t.” He motioned to the damaged windshield. “I doubt we’re still bulletproof.”

  Scott switched gears and crawled them ahead.

  “Stop right there!” the order yelled.

  They’d come within 50 feet of the spotlight, enough to just about make out its source: a lone cruiser lurking in a recessed entrance gate.

  “Driver! Step down and stand away. Nice‘n easy, ya hear.”

  “Mike?”

  “It’ll be ok. Just… park the heroics. He hasn’t gotten to know you like I have.” Mike smiled weakly, to Scott’s eye alarmingly so. They didn’t need this shit right now.

  “Driver!” the voice snapped. “You be smart, now! Exit-Your-Vehicle!”

  Scott opened his door and stepped slowly into the road. He squinted at the spotlight.

  “Hands up! Show me some skin. Walk to me.”

  Arms raised, Scott walked ahead. He saw a silhouette emerge into the light to meet him, a figure leading with its weapon raised.

  “I’m not armed,” Scott yelled.

  The cop came closer, sheathed from head-to-toe in a bright yellow slicker and an NOPD baseball cap. He looked Scott up-and-down and then, never lowering his gun from Scott, peered past at Mike.

  “Where ya from?” He glanced at the Navigator’s plate. “Illinois? Why y’all in such a big hurry?”

  “My friend’s hurt. I need to get him to a hospital.”

  The cop pointed to the windshield. “What happened?”

  “Eh… there was a tree in the road. It
came right at us. Bust his window and caught him in the shoulder.”

  The cop circled around Scott and looked in the open driver door at Mike and his bloody state.

  “Evening,” Mike greeted him, raising his good hand.

  The cop’s shoulder walkie crackled. “Two-Adam-Niner? Marlon, ya there?”

  He pulled it to his mouth. “Two-Adam-Niner receiving. Over.”

  “It’s Beau. We hearing chatter up ya way. What’s going on, Bro?”

  “We’re good up here. Y’all find those assholes yet? Over.”

  “Negatory on that, Two-Adam-Niner. Stay sharp case they slip by to you.”

  “Roger that. Two-Adam out.”

  Marlon the cop walked round to Mike’s window. “Man, you really got stuck good.”

  Mike nodded.

  “We’re trying to make it downtown to get him looked at,” Scott explained.

  “I hear ya. Ain’t gonna be this road, I’m fraid.”

  “Why?” asked Mike. “What’s going on up there?”

  “Goddamn clusterfuck like you wouldn’t believe. I got two dead and one getting cut out right now, prolly won’t make it neither.”

  “Cops?” Mike asked. “I used to be ‘job’.”

  “Don’t say?” Marlon perked up. “Where at?”

  “East Harlem. Up by the Two-Five.”

  “I hear ya. No, not Uni’s. Thank Saint Mike, right? Civvies.” Marlon indicated the high chain-link fence along the block. Behind it was a wide open lot and some warehouses. “In there’s the high school and the district school bus depot. We’s haulin ass past, running escort crosstown for two Lowboys with a shitload of sandbags. All sudden, this school bus comes crashing through the gate there and gets wiped out by the lead truck. Boom! Fore you know, both trailers on their asses cross the avenue, sandbags everywhere.”

  “Jesus,” Scott winced. “A school bus?”

  “Homies looking for a joyride, I guess. Musta not liked their last grades. All I know’s someone’s getting flooded tomorrow counta this.”

  “Least you got the guy,” Scott said.

  “In the bus? I got most of him, what bits ain’t running in the gutter. We still got two more loose in the lot what was bringing up his rear when it hit. They ditched their rides and vamoosed. Boys’s in there now after their asses.”

  Scott climbed the Navigator’s side-mounted ladder to the rack and peered down the road. The two Lowboys—long flat trailers—were splayed across the width of the avenue, like toys thrown by a petulant child. One was on its side, detached from the cab which sat fully flipped over on the median strip. The other trailer was still upright, the nose of its cab buried in the mangled center of a school bus. A body hung from the busted front window of the bus. Dozens of massive sandbags littered the carnage like gargantuan marshmallows. Loose sand was everywhere. Scott spotted a fire truck and two ambulances beyond the line of police cruisers.

  He climbed down. “So where do we go?”

  “See that gas station behind y’all?” Marlon pointed the way they had come. “That’s Louisa. Go straight down to Claiborne. Hang another right. Is all the way downtown then. Home run, Baby. You got Canal—bigass street—and then next left is Tulane. Charity Hospital, right there, they’s admitting mergencies. Is where this mess is going anyway.”

  “I’ll put your order in with the maitre’d then,” Mike joked. “How’d you want your steak?”

  Marlon laughed. “Like my sex life, rare and bloody.”

  Scott climbed back inside. Mike extended his good arm out the window. “You stay safe, Two-Niner.”

  Marlon seized Mike’s hand heartily. “Amen back atcha, Two-Five. Now get your asses to Charity.”

  Scott turned the Navigator around on the median and headed for the detour route.

  “What was all that about? Two-Five? Two Nine? Half the time I have no idea what comes out of your mouth.”

  “Cop thing,” Mike said. “Takes guts to step up when your city’s coming apart. I wonder how many won’t tonight.”

  “You never really left, did you?”

  “She never lets you.”

  Scott laughed as he made the turn on Louisa. “Careful Mike. Your halo’s showing.”

  “Oh shove it up your ass, Jameson! Hurry up, my steak’s getting cold.”

  Chapter 46

  They eased down the absolute desolation of Louisa Street, not a single point of light anywhere. They coasted past plot after plot of small boxy houses within chicken-coop fences, darkened, hopefully deserted. They ploughed through standing water which, though only ankle-deep, covered every inch of the road.

  On the neutral ground median strip, broad-branched trees swayed in the cross-winds, threatening to rip free and take flight. At the next four-way, the signal pole jerked and swiveled like a compass needle. Overhead, the telephone lines skipped and rippled, strummed by the gusts. Mike’s eyes never left them as they passed under.

  As they approached the next street corner, a figure sprinted from the cover of a porch and into the road, arms waving. Scott slowed.

  “Go around,” said Mike. “Better still, go over him.”

  “Huh?”

  “He’s hustling—or worse. I oughta know, right?”

  They were almost to him.

  “He’s just a kid, Mike.”

  “Fine. I’ll give you the Glock and you shoot him. This city’s gonna be the death of me.”

  Scott veered to avoid him but the newcomer moved to block, forcing Scott to brake. As the teen boy ran to Mike’s side, Mike shoved the business end of the Glock out the window.

  “That’s close enough, friend,” Mike warned him.

  “Whoa. Whoa.” The boy took a step back. “Chill. Ay’s only gonna ask if you seen any buses.”

  “Do we look like the Partridge Family?” Mike growled. “Grab some curb, whydoncha?”

  “Easy, Bro. Ain’t nothin doin. I just thought you was them. I been waitin. People’s getting jumpy wonderin why they ain’t come yet.”

  “What people?” Mike yelled above the hammering sound of the rain. “Rest of your homies?”

  “The people in the church. We gotta get to the Dome. S’been an hour since the others went to try and get a bus for us. I come out here to see what’s doin.”

  “He doesn’t know,” Scott whispered.

  “Then it ain’t our problem if it ain’t a problem. We should just scram,” Mike replied.

  “Where’s this church?” Scott shouted to the boy.

  “Next block over. Ain’t no ways. We all holed up there. Couldn’t get no rides up to the Dome. Now the radio says we oughtn’t be here neither. Got folks can’t even walk. No one comin for our asses though. Parish must have bout 50 buses up there but they ain’t been rolling all day. We don’t count for shit!”

  “No one organized an evacuation?” Scott asked.

  “Aw-gin-ize?” The boy threw his arms up with comic disdain. “This Nawlins! You see that foo Nagin, you can splain him what that mean. He up at the Hyatt—penthouse suite. Mayor No-Hair, Don’t-Care, Ain’t-Nowhere-but-he-sure-do-despair!”

  Mike put the Glock away. “Who went to get the buses?”

  “My brother and his buds. But that be over hour ago. Shun’t take that long.”

  “Just down there?” Scott pointed down the side street. “The church?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Scott?” Mike grumbled.

  “Show me!” Scott ordered the boy.

  “Scott.” Mike pressed.

  “Mike, they’re not coming. Look around you. Look at the street, for God’s sake. We can’t just do… nothing. I’m making this my office and it’s payback time now, my turn, so just…” He looked to the boy. “Go on. We’ll follow you.”

  “Ok.” The boy sprinted up the street and Scott steered to follow.

  Mike read the street sign as they started up it. “Humanity Street. Awesome! Probably find a burning bush waiting for you when we get there.”

  “How’s
the wound? Reckon you can hold on for just a few extra?”

  “Oh yeah. If only to spite you.”

  Scott tried to smile but it was hard done. Mike looked deathly pale and drawn. A pang of guilt seized Scott. If they didn’t make Charity in time, this would be why.

  They reached the large low-roofed church at the next corner. Scott circled up onto the concrete front lot and stopped at the main double doors, just as the boy slipped inside them. Behind the glass door panels, Scott saw the soft glow of candles burning within.

  As Scott made to exit, Mike grabbed his arm. “Don’t.”

  “What?”

  “I understand you doing this. That’s cool. Just don’t go inside. You wanna play Noah? Fine. Let’s take as many people as we can. Just don’t go in and have to remember who you couldn’t take. Because you will, every single face, when this is over. Trust me.”

  Scott nodded. “Ok. Five minutes and we’re out of here. Promise.” He got out and lifted the rear hatch. The church doors swung out and an older man, with salt-and-pepper hair and beard, appeared with the boy.

  The man addressed Scott. “Ellis says you just came down from the main road.”

  “Yeah. I’m Scott. That’s Mike.”

  “I’m Xavier Bellecourt. This here’s my nephew, Ellis.”

  “He flagged us down, said you might need our help.”

  “What in Hell are you boys doing out in this mess?”

  “My friend’s injured. I’m getting him to Charity Hospital. What’s going on here?”

  “We got sick and old inside. When I figured things were getting rough, we rounded em all up from the neighborhood and got holed up here. But it’s getting mighty worrisome, so some boys decided to go see if they could get a bus and get em all moved to the Dome. Charity might be a better bet, mind. I got at least two people need oxygen but we ain’t got any power.”

  “Chrome-Dome Nagin ain’t mindin, up in his ivory tower,” Ellis grumbled.

  “Ellis, zip it.” Xavier snapped. “You ain’t been helping with that speak all night.”

  “Look,” Scott leaned in to Xavier. “I don’t think that plan of theirs went too well,” he whispered.

  “Huh?” Xavier asked.

  “The buses. When we got there, the place was crawling with cops. That’s why we ducked down this way.”