The Alt Apocalypse {Book 3): Torrent

by Abrahams, Tom

  Keri squeezed Dub’s hand and let go. Then she took her mother’s and pulled it to her chest as they walked slowly along the crowded corridor. Her head was beginning to throb above and behind her eyes.

  None of them had yet talked about what they’d experienced that night. None of them had shared how close to death they’d come. None of them were ready for that.

  Keri knew her family had struggled to survive. Her parents couldn’t swim. She couldn’t imagine how they’d gotten onto the roof, how they’d survived.

  Her mother smiled at her weakly. It was pained, stretched with concern and preoccupation. At least it was something. It was comforting.

  Keri smiled back. She was her mom’s baby. She always would be. She was also the prodigal daughter who’d flown halfway across the country to go to college when she as easily could have gotten scholarships at Tulane, Loyola, or LSU. It was appropriate that she hadn’t been with them when her sisters’ house had flooded.

  She’d been on her own, drowning until Dub saved her. Her family had been without her, fighting the rising water themselves. They’d been unaware of her struggles as they battled their own.

  She resolved in that moment, in the nauseating stink of a hospital, to do a better job of being a part of her family. She’d call more, text more. She’d come for the holidays and send cards before birthdays came and went. She’d use FaceTime and Snapchat to give her family the sense they were with her and she was with them. She’d tag them and post photo galleries to Facebook. Keri decided these things, as desperate people always do.

  “How many people are here?” asked Dub, shaking her from her thoughts. “How many are patients, and how many are…”

  “Refugees?” asked Drew. He squared his jaw. “Sorry, probably not the right word.”

  “It’s fine,” said Dub.

  “I don’t really know how many,” said Drew. “We’ve been too focused on managing everything. We’re barely keeping our head above, er, keeping up with things.”

  Nobody else spoke as they wound their way from one crowded hall to the next. Keri rubbed her forehead and winced against the bright light that met them in the “waiting area.”

  It was a wide intersection of hallways leading in four directions. To one side was a nurse’s desk. A half-dozen hospital workers were busy behind that desk, while around it there were thirty or forty people sitting or lying down, leaning on one another for comfort. They were all on the floor.

  Keri swallowed against the growing thud at her temples and flagged the attention of the nurse in front of her at the desk. She was a woman in her mid-fifties. Her wiry gray hair hung to her shoulders. Her bangs, which hid her eyebrows, were not flattering. She eyed Keri with pursed lips and a forehead wrinkled with irritation.

  “Two things,” Keri said to her. “Hoping you can help me.”

  The woman was unmoved. Keri noticed rings of sweat leaching from under her arms and at her neck.

  “One,” Keri said, unfazed, “I’ve got a splitting headache. Could I please get some aspirin? Or even something for a migraine?”

  “What’s two?” asked the nurse.

  “My dad, Bob Monk, just came in here,” said Keri, her voice inching toward tremulous. “A guy named Kyle rolled him in. Is he okay?”

  The nurse looked down and ran her finger along a piece of paper with illegible scribbles across it. She sighed, as if put upon, and then tapped one of the hieroglyphics. “He’s in with a doctor now. I don’t have an update.”

  She looked up after saying this, her features no softer than before.

  “Thank you for the information, Keri said. “Do you know when we might get an update?”

  The nurse held up the chicken-scratch notepad. “No telling. We’ve got I don’t know how many people here with all kinds of problems. We’ve got near drownings, lacerations, diabetic shock, a whole bunch of injured who fell from a collapsed balcony. It could be five minutes. It could be an hour or three, I just don’t know.”

  Keri swallowed, trying not to snap at the woman, who she knew was under tremendous stress. She forced herself to smile and thanked the woman again. “I really appreciate what you’re doing. I know you likely have a home and family and you’re here helping strangers.”

  The woman’s frown, which had appeared set in stone, softened. Keri thought she might even see the slightest upturned curl of a smile at the edges of her dour mouth.

  “Thank you,” said the nurse. “I appreciate that. I do have a family. They’re okay. Our house isn’t. But thank you.”

  The nurse held up a finger, signaling for Keri to stand by for a moment, then stepped away. When she returned, she handed Keri a cup of water and two red caplets. “For your headache. I get them. They can be bad. The blurred vision, the nausea. Take these. They’ll help.”

  Keri popped them into her mouth, downed the cup of water, and thanked the woman again. She worked back through the crowd to find where her group had claimed squatters’ rights.

  Dub was sitting next to her mother. He was talking to her softly and holding her hand. Her sisters were leaning against one another, their eyes closed and jaws slack. Keri couldn’t understand how they could sleep in the adrenaline-fueled confusion of the place. The odors, the noises, and the people all combined to overload her senses.

  She found an empty spot next to Gem. “Thanks,” she said to her. “You were a big help.”

  “Of course,” said Gem, offering her hand. “I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Gemma. Gem for short. I think I’ve seen you on campus before. Econ 11 maybe?”

  Keri leaned against the plaster wall, her spine feeling sharp against it. “Stats 10, I think,” she said. “Fall quarter. You’re in a sorority, right?”

  Gem nodded. “It was a way to meet people. I didn’t know a lot of people when I got to campus.”

  “Me neither,” said Keri.

  “Barker tells me that your sisters’ names are Kiki and Katie,” Gem said, smiling slyly. You’re Keri. Your mom is Kristin?”

  Keri blushed. “Yes.”

  “Like the Kardashians?”

  “Not like the Kardashians,” she said. “I mean, I guess the older ones. They have K names. But not the ones on television now. They all have names that sound like nouns.”

  “True,” said Gem. “I didn’t mean to offend, but I was thinking it might be tough to keep up with you.”

  The women shared a brief laugh, a sliver of levity in a night that was drenched with weight. They were interrupted by a man standing over them. He had the look of someone who’d been soaked but had dried again. He was very tall, with a slight gut protruding over the cinched scrubs at his waist. He wore a deep look of concern, and in some way he was familiar. Keri thought she’d seen him before, but not in a hospital. Somewhere else. Somewhere she couldn’t place.

  “Are you the Monks?” he said to nobody in particular, his eyes dancing across them. “I’m looking for the Monk family.”

  Keri’s mother jumped to her feet, wobbled, and braced herself against the wall. Steadied, she took two careful steps toward the man. Kiki and Katie woke up, apparently aware of the stranger’s presence.

  “I’m his wife,” she said. “These are my daughters.”

  The man extended his hand and removed the surgical cap from his head. “I’m your husband’s doctor,” he said. “I’m Steven Konkoly.”

  “How is he, Doctor?” asked Kristin.

  “Let me preface this by telling you I’m not a cardiologist,” he said, measuring his words. His deliberate cadence was familiar to Keri.

  “You’re not?” asked Kristin. “I don’t understand. Should he—”

  Doc held up his hands to calm her. “He’s in good hands. He’s going to be fine. Perhaps I should have started with that.”

  Kristin sighed; her whole body exhaled. “Oh,” she said, the air deflating as she spoke, “thank goodness. Thank you.”

  “We believe he’s had a heart attack,” said Doc. “He’s awake now and resting comf
ortably. We’re not in a position to have the requisite testing done right now. That will have to happen at the first available opportunity.”

  “What testing?” asked Kristin.

  “Again,” said Doc, “I’m not a cardiologist. I don’t have privileges here, actually. I’m from California. I’m…helping. They’re overwhelmed. I offered whatever assistance they require.”

  “Can we see him?” asked Kristin.

  “Soon,” said Doc. “He’s stable. That’s good. But we don’t want any excitement at the moment. Can you give it an hour? We’ll check his vitals again. Then someone can come back and update you again.”

  “You’re from California?” asked Keri.

  “Yes,” said Doc. “Los Angeles.”

  “Oh,” said Kristin. “That’s where my daughter attends school.”

  “Do you?” asked Doc, his attention fully on Keri now. “Which one?”

  “UCLA,” said Keri.

  “What’s your major?”

  “Biology.”

  “Premed?” he asked.

  Keri thought for an instant she saw a look of recognition flash across his face. It was brief, but it was there. “Maybe,” she said. “Or research. I don’t know yet.”

  “Good luck,” he said. “Maybe we’ll cross paths at Reagan someday.”

  “Maybe,” said Keri. She was certain they already had. Not at the medical center, but somewhere.

  Doc excused himself and treaded through the crowded hall and beyond a pair of swinging doors. Keri watched the doors slap back and forth until they stopped.

  “Hey,” Dub said. He’d slipped next to Keri without her having noticed it. “Did that guy look familiar to you?”

  Keri swung around to face Dub. She nodded, and she saw as their gazes met that he was as confused as she was. She wasn’t going crazy. It wasn’t déjà vu, at least not the kind of déjà vu she’d been experiencing more and more frequently. She hadn’t told Dub about it. Maybe she should.

  “He did,” she said softly, leaving it at that for now. “Weird, right?”

  Dub nodded, his eyes on the double doors now. “Very. But, hey, your dad’s going to be okay. That’s a relief. And we’re all good here. Everyone is safe.”

  Keri couldn’t help but think it wasn’t true. They were dry now, true. They were out of the floodwater, check. But were they really safe? Something she couldn’t shake, an oppressive wave that felt as if it were hovering above her, threatening to crash, told her they weren’t. They were far from it. Very far from it.

  CHAPTER 17

  April 5, 2026

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Doc Konkoly needed a minute to breathe. Since he’d arrived at the hospital, helping heave one injured patient after another through a broken window and into the second floor, he’d been on his feet.

  He’d gone from assisting in one case to leading the charge in the next. He hadn’t done emergent care since his residency. It was at once gratifying, terrifying, and emotionally exhausting.

  But what had really shaken him was the daughter of the heart attack patient. The Bruin. She’d looked at him as if she knew him, as had the two men sitting on the floor. They also appeared to be college students. All three of them might have burned a hole in his forehead had they stared at him any more intently than they had.

  He leaned against a wall and drew his hands to his face. He exhaled, smelling his breath.

  You’re imagining it, he told himself. It’s the stress.

  Yet he wasn’t sure of it. Although he hoped saying it aloud might convince him, it didn’t. He reached out to a passing doctor, asking where he could find a restroom. The doctor paused, pointed, and told him where to find one the public couldn’t access.

  Doc followed the directions and found a men’s restroom. He pushed the door open and stepped into the humid, dimly lit washroom. There was a row of three sinks on one wall, hung against the tile wall beneath a wide rectangular mirror. The mirror reflected the twin urinals and the pair of stalls on the opposite wall. One of the stalls was closed.

  Doc moved to one of the sinks and ran his hand under the faucet sensor, activating the rush of water from the tap. He cupped his hands under the warm water, bent over, and splashed it onto his face. It was life-affirming, the idea of heated, clean water. He cupped another handful and splashed his face again, letting the water drip from his chin and down the sides of his neck.

  His eyes were closed when the stall door clicked and creaked open. Footsteps echoed, squishing their way to the sink next to him. He blindly reached for a paper towel and patted his face dry.

  He looked at the man next to him in the mirror and reflexively nodded hello. The other man did the same while washing his hands; then they both did a double take and looked at each other again. This was no déjà vu. These two men did know each other, at least in passing.

  “You’re the reporter,” said Doc. “The one from LA.”

  “Lane Turner,” said the reporter. “And you’re the guy from the bar at the hotel.”

  “I am. Dr. Steve Konkoly. What are you doing here?”

  “Came in with a rescue crew,” said Turner. “We’ve been hopping rides wherever we can get them. About to head back out to the hotel. There are some people needing rescue there now.”

  “Our hotel?”

  “Yeah,” Lane said. “My crew’s waiting in the boat outside. I had to go to the bathroom while we were here. Too much water everywhere, you know?”

  Doc nodded. He reached for another paper towel and wiped the remnant water from his neck.

  “You could go with us,” said Turner. “I’m sure the two guys on the boat could use the help dragging people out of the water. It’s tough work.”

  Doc started to decline; he could do more good work here. “I don’t know,” he said. “They probably need me here. I’m about to go get another assignment.”

  “You can help people out there too,” said the reporter, drying his hands. “We could have used you on the last one. One guy was bleeding pretty badly. You could have helped. Who knows what we’re going to find this time?”

  Doc thought about the people falling from the balcony. He remembered Shonda, the desk clerk at the hotel, waiting for approval to leave her post as the water inundated the lobby.

  “Let me tell them I’m leaving,” said Doc. “Wait here.”

  Turner raised an eyebrow. “In the bathroom?”

  Doc moved to the door and swung it open. “No, in the hallway, outside the bathroom.”

  “I was kidding,” said Turner.

  “I know,” said Doc. He needed to find someone of authority. He wanted to be sure that the patients he’d already treated would have good care once he was gone. He also wanted to assure the hospital he wasn’t jumping ship, even though he was.

  Fifteen minutes later he was in the back of a sixteen-foot ski boat, watching the wake as the reporter and his crew recorded one short report after another, describing what they’d seen during the course of the long night.

  Doc only tangentially paid attention to them, or to the three men on the boat who’d taken it upon themselves to search and rescue. It was a private boat. These were do-gooders who wanted to jump into the deep end and help with no compensation or expectation of anything.

  All three were from the area, all family men and churchgoers, who were forgoing Easter sunrise services, assuming they’d even be held, to be here.

  Easter Sunday. Doc hadn’t remembered it was Sunday, let alone Easter. It wasn’t much of a holiday, that was certain.

  The sky changed from a milky black to a purplish color before the first hints of deep reds and orange smudged their way above the horizon. With the sun coming up and dawn approaching, the night’s devastation was at once easier and harder to comprehend.

  In the dark of the night, it was difficult to know much more than the presence of water everywhere and in places it should not have been. There was something frightening about not seeing more than that, the reflectio
n of lights on the water, the gray and blue hues of buildings’ shadows dipping beneath the rising flood.

  In the daylight, though, it was more breathtaking. The water was receding. The debris-painted lines on the sides of now-muted buildings was evidence the worst was over, but worse was yet to come. The tops of trucks poked through the surface of it. Birds drank from it while perched on street signs tilted from their proper place. Bugs danced on it, leaving tiny ripples like those from raindrops. Fish flicked their tails in it, visible life both out of its element but still in it.

  Doc saw a couple on a balcony as they passed by. They were in T-shirts and shorts. The clothing looked stained with the drama of the weekend. Their bodies touched, her hip against his thigh. They surveyed the damage with resignation and surprise. She pointed at something in the distance; he squinted. She took his chin in her hand and moved his line of sight. His eyes widened and he nodded. Then he shook his head. She wrapped her arms around him. He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.

  A lone man paddled past them in a kayak. He plunged one side of the double-bladed paddle into the water, pulled it through, then worked the other side. With each stroke, the point bow of the bright yellow kayak shifted like a compass searching for true north.

  The sky was clear and edging toward pink now, the darker watercolors lightening as the sun brushed away the night. The clouds were gone and the air wasn’t as thick. The dampness was at the surface now. Thin wisps of vapor rose from the water toward the cooler, drier air.

  Doc soaked in all of it, thinking about how this place wouldn’t be the same for months. It could be years until these deep, wet scars faded. They might never heal. Not fully. There would always be marks, reminders, stories of the night the city sank.

  “It’s horrible,” said the reporter. He’d maneuvered to the stern of the vessel and inched up near Doc. “I’ve seen a lot. Never seen anything like this.”

  Doc sucked in a deep breath of the surprisingly chilled air and nodded in agreement. He turned his attention to Turner and motioned toward the crew. “They go with you everywhere?” he asked. “Same team on every story?”