Flood Plains (17 page)

In the cab, Big Time struggled with the wheel. The truck handled like shit, a man staggering through oatmeal. Still, it was like being in a battleship, seemingly impregnable to the elements outside. As he pulled under the skyway, he waved to Scott.

“Come on down!” he cried, though no one could hear him.

There were thuds as the trio landed on the back of the rig. Big Time slid over to the passenger side, shook the can of WD-40, opened the door, and blasted the nearest sludge worm with flame. As it sank back into the water, Scott leaped onto the cab’s roof and swung inside,
Dukes of Hazzard
-style.

“My man!” Scott said, hugging Big Time.

When his friend grimaced in pain, Scott eyed his arm.

“Broken?”

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

“Well, shit. Least you’re alive.”

Muhammad appeared next and helped Zakiyah into the cab as well. Once everyone was in, Big Time put the truck back into gear and rolled forward.

As they moved away from the factory, everyone experienced spasms of relief. The hurricane may have been pounding around them, the floodwaters rising, and the monstrous sludge worms patrolling not far behind, but for the moment, they were safe.

•  •  •

As soon as they’d left Austin in their news van, Kenneth and Gloria found themselves in a deluge. The entire southeastern section of the state was being pummeled by rain showers brought inland by Hurricane Eliza.

A few more miles towards the Gulf, and they discovered that Kenneth had been right about the difficulty of getting into the city. Roadblocks had been set up on the highways leading out of Houston to allow both lanes to become westbound-only as evacuation routes. But the reporter’s assumption that there would be plenty of empty one-lane farm roads ignored by other travelers was also correct. The only problem with the farm roads, as Gloria repeatedly pointed out, was their tendencies to flood from just the slightest bit of rain.

“Oof! Careful!”

Gloria bounced up in her seat for the umpteenth time as what had looked like a “puddle” had turned out to be much deeper.

“I’m being careful, but there aren’t a lot of alternatives,” Kenneth replied, creeping the van along at twenty miles per hour. “We pull off onto the shoulder, and we’ll get stuck in the mud. What’s the next major intersection?”

“Looks like something labeled FM 2920 up there somewhere that takes us into North Houston,” Gloria said, checking the GPS. “Should we try that?”

“If we get stuck out here, we’ll not only miss the story, we’ll also be a laughingstock”

“We wouldn’t have to tell anybody.”

“Definitely. We’re probably past the roadblocks by now. If we get stuck out here, we’ll not only miss the story, but I’d be your personal laughingstock for the next year. That’s almost worse.”

“Then you’d better get us out of this.”

Kenneth’s hand went to the radio, only to be reminded that they hadn’t gotten any kind of signal for awhile. Their cell phones were dead, too, but Gloria had had the foresight to download onto her laptop a map showing the projected route of the hurricane. They knew it could’ve unexpectedly turned at any point, but they relied on the map to choose their route regardless.

“Oh, my God,” Gloria exclaimed. “Is that it?”

Kenneth slowed the van. Up ahead, the white clouds churned in front of a purple-gray sky. Walls of rain seemingly misted down from the sky, though both reporters could tell this was an optical illusion. The rain must have been coming down in sheets. Kenneth had purposely dropped south a bit so they’d be approaching the storm at its west wall, which in theory meant less devastating winds. The speed at which the clouds were moving suggested that if this was “less devastating,” whatever was at the front of the storm must be cataclysmic.

“Pretty spectacular, isn’t it?”

“Spectacular” wasn’t the word Gloria would’ve chosen.
Terrifying
.
Massive
.
Foreboding
. Yes, these were closer to how she felt as she stared at the monster through the windshield.

“Are we really driving into that?” Gloria asked.

“When you’re in it, it’s just like driving through a really bad rainstorm. Also, it’s already slowing down. By the time we get there, it might be downgraded to a Category 2.”

“But that’s still a hurricane.”

“I’m not saying it’ll be a walk in the park, but it looks far worse than it actually is.”

Gloria wasn’t sure she believed him. As her boss drove on ahead, she actually began to pray they’d get stuck in some ditch or sinkhole.

Chapter 20

T
he National Hurricane Center was the first institution to become significantly worried about Galveston.

“We’re getting readings back from our hardened equipment just fine, but there’s nothing from our monitoring staff on-site,” went a report to the Coast Guard.

“We’re not getting anything, either,” replied the Coast Guard. “We’re considering a landing.”

Despite the heavy cloud cover, infrared satellite photos revealed that flooding associated with Eliza was significant, with much of Houston and its outlying areas underwater. Emergency services that had been mobilized in Travis County outside the storm’s path were readied for deployment as soon as the governor authorized their release. The problem was, the storm was proving to be a peculiar bird.

It had washed across Galveston and crept over Houston, slowing as it reached the city. All of this was easily anticipated hurricane behavior. Only, once it was over the most populated areas, it came to a complete standstill, which hurricanes sometimes did as well, only this one wasn’t losing wind speed in the process. It wasn’t dissipating. What threw the meteorologists was that a hurricane drew its energy from the warm waters it passed over on the ocean. Dry land was a storm-killer. The only way it could exhibit this kind of behavior was if it had found a new energy source.

Despite the conflicting theories about what this energy source could be, everyone agreed that it was unlike any storm system they’d previously encountered.

The Coast Guard dispatched the lone Hamilton-class cutter in the area, the
Van Ness
, from its storm port of Baton Rouge to Galveston. Upon arrival, it immediately reported that the Galveston Island Causeway had been destroyed by the hurricane, which surprised many. The bridge arced a hundred feet over the water and was specifically designed to withstand winds even greater than what Eliza brought. The consensus was that the collapse wasn’t caused by wind or rain but by the collapse of one or more pylons. It was assumed they must have been taking a beating from any number of heavy or sunken objects dredged up in the Intercoastal Waterway by the storm.

It was now being decided if sailors from the
Van Ness
could attempt a landing on Galveston Island itself. The ruined piers and likelihood of newly treacherous submersibles sunk just below the surface meant docking the cutter was out. However, a lieutenant had outlined a plan involving the ship’s Zodiacs that could ferry sailors directly onto the beaches.

The ship’s captain weighed this idea but felt the boats were too exposed and an attempt too dangerous under current sea conditions. When this changed, they would reassess.

The lieutenant protested but was told in no uncertain terms that the ship had sighted no immediate signs of emergency or distress coming from the island, so why risk men? They could be interfering unnecessarily with the work of the local civic government.

The fact that they hadn’t seen any signs of life at all didn’t set off any alarm bells.

•  •  •

Alan’s pain was excruciating, far worse than anything he’d felt before. He kept waiting to pass out from shock but never did. What made it worse was that there was no telling when it would ebb. There was no hospital he could be taken to, much less a drugstore where he could tank up on ibuprofen or, better yet, codeine.

“I’m sorry, Alan,” said Sineada. “There’s just not a lot I can do for you.”

Alan nodded, gritting his teeth. The raft hadn’t gone far from Sineada’s place, and he even imagined swimming back in there to raid her medicine cabinets. Except, he knew just how dangerous that might prove to be.

Mia was near-hysterics. She’d been crying uncontrollably since the monstrous, tentacled creature slithered away. The tears streaming down her face, mixing with the rain splashing against it, gave her a mask of anguish. Alan hated seeing his daughter so distraught.

Sineada tried to pray. She wasn’t addressing any God. She didn’t believe that was what prayer was for. No, she was looking for the answers inside herself. How could she help Alan? What was she missing?

That’s when it hit her. She was reminded of something she’d heard once about people who could commune with the spirits. Something that she had tried to do as a younger woman, only to discover it was outside her realm of abilities.

Mia, she surmised, might be a different story.

“Mia, come here a moment,” she said softly.

As if surprised to hear her name, Mia wiped her eyes and rose. The upturned roof was unsteady in the water, so she had to get her balance before moving next to Sineada.

“Take your father’s hand, but look into his eyes. You’re going to go in there and calm his nerves.”

Alan shook his head.

“What’re you doing to her?”

“Just relax,” Sineada whispered. She turned back to Mia. “Right now, your daddy’s body is screaming out. You’re going to get in there and shush ’em on down, ease the pain of all those nerve endings. Can you do that?”

Mia stared at her, bewildered.

“I can’t do that.”

“Five minutes ago, did you think you could stop that thing by screaming your thoughts at it?”

“No, but…”

“I didn’t think so. We don’t know what you can do, but it’s worth trying, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yeah.” A whisper.

“Now, take his hand.”

Mia did, wrapping the fingers of his right hand in hers.

“I’m sorry about your legs, Daddy.”

“It’s okay. I can take of myself.”

Alan didn’t think this would do any good, but he was determined to manifest some kind of reaction. He knew how helpless his daughter must feel. This might give her some strength.

“Now, the pain’s an illusion,” Sineada began quietly. “You’re not actually in pain, but looking at your body, you think you
should
be in pain. If you just relax and lessen the tension coursing through your muscles, you’ll know what I’m saying is true.”

Alan did this, having not realized that he had been keeping his body rigid since the attack. He let himself go just a little limp, and was rewarded as the pain really did seem to ease away.

Sineada saw this and nodded. “A little more?”

Alan looked up at Mia, but her eyes were closed. He relaxed more and was rewarded a second time. The pain was still present, but he had to tense to make himself really feel it. It wasn’t all-pervasive anymore. He felt Sineada’s hand on his shoulder.

“Now, take a deep breath and let it all go,” Sineada said.

Alan nodded, relaxed his body completely, and sank into a painless sleep.

As soon as he was out, Sineada touched Mia’s shoulder and the little girl’s eyes opened.

“Come. We need to try and get some place dry.”

Sineada said this not only because she knew how quickly any infection that got ahold of Alan would race through his body as long as they found it cool, wet, and inviting, but also because of her fears for Mia. Alan had been right. Helping her father had helped the little girl. Sineada thought giving her another task could aid in extending that.

Mia picked up a roofing truss that Alan had used to pole the raft over to Sineada’s house, handing a second one to her great-grandmother. As Sineada rose to take it, she immediately felt a stab of pain down her back and in her legs.

“You okay,
Abuela
?” Mia asked.

“Getting there,” Sineada nodded. “Forgot I took a spill on the attic ladder. But we need to talk, you and I.”

Mia nodded.

“How did you stop it?”

“Well, it’s not an ‘it,’ it’s a ‘who,’” Mia replied, choosing her words carefully. “Actually, it’s a ‘they.’”

This confirmed one of Sineada’s hypotheses.

“What do you know about them?”

“They’re dead, but they died a long time ago.”

“All of them?”

“There are new ones who just died, but they’re confused. They don’t understand what’s happening. Then, there are the others. They all died together, too.”

“How many is ‘they all’?”

Mia didn’t answer for a moment. Sineada thought she was counting individual voices. Then, as Mia stared at her through the cold rain, the old woman realized her great-granddaughter was afraid the answer would scare her and was holding back.

“Tell me.”

When Mia said a number, Sineada’s eyes went wide. She looked up to the dark skies with a new feeling of terror.
That many?
That was the madness fueling the day?

Sineada sat back, staring out at the floodwaters, imagining what lurked beneath. She considered the implications of Mia’s words. A whole life lived, watching people come into this world and then leave it, and suddenly she was no longer certain what it might even mean that she was going to “die” that day. If what Mia said was true, what did death mean anymore?

Chapter 21

A
s Big Time angled the eighteen-wheeler up the freeway ramp and out of the floodwaters, he could feel the tension in the cab ebbing. No one had said much on the way out of the Deltech campus. He wondered if they didn’t believe they were out of the woods yet or were just beginning to come to grips with the scope of what happened, as he was. The rain was still heavy, but it wasn’t until the truck rolled up on a bridge that Big Time realized how strong the wind was gusting. The trailer shuddered under the onslaught but didn’t tumble away.

“Good thing it’s not empty after all,” Scott said.

“Yeah, must have a few units back there.”