Flood Plains by Mark Wheaton (best ereader under 100 .TXT) 📕

the story for Mia, saying only that Alan had “broken some stuff” at the factory and gotten arrested for it, she had no interest in talking to the man himself.

Let him sweat it out a night in jail.

Also, she’d had that uncle who was always in trouble back in Louisiana. He’d get arrested, his wife and kids would show up in court wearing their shabbiest clothes, and they’d look all sad when their father came out. If they could muster actual tears, he gave them a quarter. When all three of these cousins later ended up in trouble themselves, Zakiyah wondered if they ever appeared in front of the same judges as their daddy.

Regardless, she decided that Alan wouldn’t be allowed to use Mia like that if that was what he had in mind.

“What’s it look like outside?”

“Really wet, but it’s not flooding. The storm hasn’t made it this far up yet.”

Zakiyah nodded. When she’d called back her grandmother after Mia had gone to bed, Sineada had offered her place for Mia to stay if schools did close and Zakiyah needed to work. The only problem was that Sineada was down in Fifth Ward, which meant a long drive down to the city before coming back to Deltech on the north side and a repeat performance twelve hours later, both through a major storm.

Or maybe not. If it got really bad, Zakiyah thought, she could see if Sineada would let Mia spend the night. Yeah, that made the most sense.

“All right. Time to get this day underway.”

•  •  •

After he’d walked two blocks, Muhammad realized that his wife was right to say he was crazy for going to work that day. He’d brought an umbrella, but the rain was coming down like a monsoon, and it was blown to pieces before he’d even reached the bus stop. The stop had a roof, but it did nothing. His clothes were soaked through, and his shoes were so heavy with water it was as if they’d been dipped in cement.

It took him about fifteen minutes of staring down the dark, flooded streets of San Felipe Park to realize that bus service was cut off for the storm. He cursed to himself. When Mukul had explained how much “time and a half” was, Muhammad hadn’t taken into account being unable to reach the factory.

That’s when a taxi cab pulled up to the shelter, sloshing water over the curb as the driver braked. A turban-wearing Sikh rolled down the passenger window and smiled at Muhammad.

“No buses today, my man. Where can I take you?”

“Do you know Deltech Computers up in Clear Creek?”

“Of course. Forty bucks.”

Muhammad shook his head. That would be a quarter of his day’s pay.

“Twenty-five.”

“Thirty and a tip.”

Muhammad knew his pride wouldn’t allow him to skulk home, so he stepped into the back of the cab and was instantly rewarded with warmth.

“Pretty bad today, huh?” the driver asked.

“Pretty bad,” Muhammad replied. “Pretty bad.”

•  •  •

As Zakiyah rolled off the 59 and into Fifth Ward, she began rethinking her decision to leave Mia at Sineada’s house. The entire neighborhood was dark, the power having already been lost there, too. The sewer grates were full of debris, and there was already about eight or nine inches of rushing water in the streets.

If it hadn’t been for the handful of other cars on the road, the drive into the dark city would’ve been downright spooky. Without power and without people, Zakiyah got the impression of neighborhoods filled with empty houses.

“The sky looks crazy!” Mia enthused.

The little girl pointed at the swirling clouds of the hurricane up ahead. The storm hadn’t quite reached downtown Houston but probably would in a couple of hours. Zakiyah told herself that despite the evil-looking skies, Houston wasn’t on the water the way New Orleans was, and Mia would be fine. If they were back in the Ward, she’d have turned the car around and driven north until she ran out of gas.

But in Texas, this was just a heavy rainstorm with ugly winds.

•  •  •

“Remember, Abuela is a bit of an oddball, okay?” Zakiyah said. “She might say some crazy stuff, but that’s just the way she is.”

Mia nodded absently. The water spraying up from the wheel wells was much more exciting..

Zakiyah didn’t really know what to think of Sineada’s “second sight.” Her mother had dismissed it, but she had her own problems with Mia’s abuela. To hear her say it, Sineada was the primary reason Zakiyah’s father didn’t stick around much into Zakiyah’s teen years.

Zakiyah turned onto Harper, and her eyes immediately went to the faded “Palms Read, Fortunes Told” sign in the front yard. Ironically, it had been painted by Zakiyah’s father and had a raised palm and several blue stars arranged around the letters. Zakiyah and Mia had been down here a handful of times since they’d come to Houston, including once with Alan. She knew Sineada wished they would come more often, which made her feel slightly guilty for imposing Mia on her out of desperation.

As they pulled onto the driveway, Sineada waved at them from the porch. Zakiyah still couldn’t believe how anyone would seek council from such a stern-looking individual, facial features melting together like an old frog.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry!”

Sineada waved Zakiyah and Mia into the house, the pair still managing to get soaked as they hurried through the rain.

“Buenos dias, Abuela!”

“Buenos dias, Mia,” Sineada said, ushering her great-granddaughter into the house.

The house. Zakiyah was struck by its eccentric décor every time she crossed its threshold. Immaculately clean, it was filled with antiques but also containing numerous objects that could be interpreted as having some witchy purpose. An old dagger. Framed photos of long-dead ancestors in odd dress. A crow that had suffered at the hands of a not entirely competent taxidermist. Oil painting depicting Houston’s Freedman’s Historical District where slaves took up residence after the Civil War. A rooster’s claw sculpted in gold. A candy dish near the door that either suggested Halloween