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

They turned off the main roads and went into the neighborhoods, though the roads were often muddy and they feared getting stuck. Still, they could tell it was more of the same. The waters had risen, houses had been flooded, and everything within had been carried out and dumped near trees, bushes, or fences as the water receded. It looked all very civilized in Gloria’s mind’s eye.

“Shouldn’t we go inside?”

Kenneth slowed the van as a light rain began to fall on the otherwise quiet hamlet.

“If we stop, it’s not like we have any way of calling for help.”

Those were the words Kenneth used, but Gloria knew, If we stop, we’re not going to get the story was what he meant.

“And if what we’re seeing here is any indication of what lies ahead in Houston, there’s a really big story waiting for us.”

“Unless there aren’t any witnesses.”

Gloria instantly regretted saying this. It sounded too grand. She didn’t actually believe all these people were dead, did she? And now she looked like an idiot in front of her boss.

“Unless there aren’t any witness,” Kenneth echoed.

They pulled away from the curb and pressed on towards the city, neither saying much for the next hour.

•  •  •

Mommy…

Mommy…

“Mia?”

Zakiyah woke up with a start. She was momentarily disoriented but then realized she was still in the cab of the eighteen-wheeler, still moving in towards the city. Rain continued to batter the truck, limiting visibility to only a few feet, particularly as there were no lights on the highway. The wind, thankfully, seemed to have abated.

“Are you all right?” asked Muhammad, whom Zakiyah seemed to have slumped down against in her sleep.

Righting herself, she nodded.

“I’m fine, thanks. Just fell asleep.”

Big Time was still at the wheel, slowly navigating the obstacles peppering the highway between the Heights and Fifth Ward. Scott sat back in the sleeper alone with a cigarette in his hand that he hadn’t gotten around to lighting. Muhammad just stared out the window with the same look on his face as Scott. They looked like passengers in a lifeboat who were slowly giving up hope of ever sighting land.

That almost everything on either side of the road remained flooded did little to detract from this image.

Mommy…

“Shit!”

Everyone turned to Zakiyah, who was reacting as if stung by a bee.

“What’s going on with you?” Big Time asked, his voice hoarse.

“I heard Mia,” Zakiyah said simply. “She was calling out for me.”

Scott nodded.

“You’re probably dehydrated. All of us are.”

“No, I heard her! She was speaking right to me.”

But now even Zakiyah realized that this sounded crazy. Worse, it dawned on her that this might be evidence of her daughter’s death. She could have been reaching out from the other side. Whatever the case, she knew what she heard.

Scott reached over and touched her shoulder, which Zakiyah forced herself to accept as compassionate rather than condescending. Zakiyah was surprised that Big Time didn’t have anything to say about it but then remembered he was from New Orleans like she was. If you’re raised in an area with enough otherwise rationally minded people who’d readily admit to have interacted with ghosts, believe in hoodoo, and put stock in charms, you’re not so quick to judge.

“How’d she sound?” Big Time asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Calm? Desperate? Sad?”

“It sounded like she was looking for me, maybe like she was in trouble.”

“If she was in trouble, maybe that means…”

She’s alive, Zakiyah thought, not needing Big Time to finish.

“Yeah, maybe that’s what it means,” Zakiyah nodded. “At least, that’s what I’m going to pray for.”

“You hear it now?”

“No, faded out.”

Big Time nodded. They were nearing Fifth Ward, and he was beginning to get antsy, knowing the fate of his family would soon be revealed. As he drove by the Popeye’s Chicken, he could tell that it had been completely flattened. He hoped that the kind manager and his employees had gotten out in time, but then thought he should be saving his hopes and prayers for his own family.

“It’s gonna be what it’s gonna be,” Scott said, clapping Big Time on the shoulder.

“I know.”

As the truck neared the exit, the devastation of Fifth Ward was immediately evident. The tops of trees could be seen, as several were still standing, but there were no visible rooftops. A stranger to the area might’ve thought it was unincorporated woodlands turned swamp. But for Big Time, it was confirmation that the worst possible outcome was probable.

“That’s what they told me when we moved in,” Big Time said. “This whole area is a floodplain. But it’s the only place people like me could afford. I thought we’d be here a year at the most, get on our feet, and get out. This is my fault. I left one floodplain and moved into another, knowing the risks.”

It was more than that. He remembered the very moment they said if Buffalo Bayou flooded, Fifth Ward would go, not the city. He had scoffed, convincing himself that this move was him and the rest of the Katrina survivors putting God on notice. He would not bow, even after the storm of the new century. Right now, he felt the universe correcting him for his pride.

When they reached the Crosstimbers exit, the water at the bottom of the ramp was too deep. If they attempted to drive through it, there was a good chance it would stop the truck cold.

“What if you try the entrance ramp?” Scott suggested, pointing across the median. “Might not be as bad on the other side.”

Big Time figured the opposite would be true but went through the motions of reversing the truck, hopping the center grass, and rolling over towards the entrance. As he suspected, the water was even higher, almost up to the highway. He judged it to be a good ten to twelve feet deep.

“It’s a non-starter,” Big Time said.

As he spoke, he let his eyes glaze over when turned towards the window. He knew he wouldn’t be able to see all the way to his