Landfall

by Dawn Lee McKenna

  “But why would he call you?”

  He seemed to consider his words before he answered. “Everybody knows I never evacuate.”

  Maggie was about to tell him that she didn’t think he’d actually answered her question, but she felt a sudden lurching in her stomach, and she turned her back to him. She leaned over, but nothing came up. There was just an overwhelming nausea that rippled outward from her stomach to her follicles, and the fine hairs on her arms stood up in protest.

  She closed her eyes and waited a moment until it subsided a bit, then she turned and laid her face against the rough wood of the pallet. When she opened her eyes, Boudreaux’s were right there, staring back at her. Those impossibly blue eyes.

  “What was the name of that song we danced to at the festival?” she asked him. “The one you said was your favorite?”

  He frowned at her for a second, seeming surprised by the question. “La Chanson de Mardi Gras,” he said. “The dance of Mardi Gras.”

  “It sticks with you.”

  “Yes.”

  Maggie felt her eyes drifting closed. “My mother wasn’t too happy about me dancing with you that night,” she said softly, and one corner of her mouth turned up in a smile.

  “I can imagine,” she heard him say after a moment.

  Gray and Georgia had been on I-10 for more than an hour, the last half of it in silence as they each occupied themselves with their own thoughts. According to the radio, things were calming down in the Panhandle, but Gray hadn’t been able to get through to Wyatt’s number.

  “I wish you hadn’t called him,” Georgia said when she finally broke their silence.

  Gray cut his eyes at her.

  “What I mean is, I wish you hadn’t needed to,” she added almost apologetically, then looked back out her window.

  “So do I.” He pinched at the bridge of his nose, his eyes feeling strained and tired. “But I knew he’d go.”

  She was quiet again for a moment, as she stared out at nothing.

  “Why do you suppose that is?’ she asked finally. “He’s kept his word, left her alone all these years.”

  Gray chose his words carefully before he spoke. “Maggie thinks he feels guilty about what happened. That it was his nephew who did it.”

  Georgia looked over at her husband. “Why did he know, and we didn’t?”

  “The nephew told him, right before he killed himself.” He looked over at her. “Maggie told me that.”

  Georgia looked back out the window and was quiet again for a moment. “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s a father’s guilt.” He caught his wife’s skeptical look. “You think Gregory Boudreaux would have dared lay a hand on her if he’d known who she was? You think anybody would? But I think he’s actually come to care for her, in whatever way he does that.”

  Georgia swallowed, then looked away. “We’re going to have to talk to her, Gray, and she’s going to despise me.”

  Gray sighed. “I’m not sure that we are, and no she won’t. We were just kids. It was one night. We got through it, and she would, too.”

  They fell silent again for a moment, each with their own dread about having to dredge up the past, each with their own fear about the future.

  “Let’s just deal with right now,” Gray said after a few minutes. “Let’s just get home.”

  The boy soldier with the cute dimples had been right; the fill was mostly underwater.

  The fill was a spit of land that sat at pretty much sea level, and connected the Apalachicola Bay bridge to the shorter John Gorrie Bridge, which went into downtown Apalach. Wyatt made it across the fill by what could only be called extended hydroplaning, with periodic episodes of actual driving.

  Things got better for Wyatt as he finally made it to the John Gorrie, which gradually rose up out of the water and carried him across the Apalachicola River where it opened into the bay. Wyatt breathed a little bit better as he enjoyed the feeling of rubber actually meeting the road, until the bridge curved and descended into town.

  Wyatt could see on either side of the bridge that downtown was flooded. He got the impression of descending into a watery ghost town, like Atlantis in the early stages of disappearing. There was no one out on the streets. The only cars were those that had been abandoned or parked in unfortunate locations.

  Once Wyatt’s car reached the street, he slowed to a crawl, and managed to coast for about a block in two feet of water before the Focus crapped out on him. He drifted more or less to the curb, turned off the ignition, set the parking brake just in case, and slowly opened his door.

  Water flowed in and soaked the floorboards, and Wyatt wondered briefly if his insurance was going to cover it, then he carefully swung his legs into the water, feeling the protest from his left hip. He reached over and grabbed his cane, then took his time standing up, one hand on the cane and the other on the door.

  Once he decided he was as steady as he was going to get, he slowly made his way over to the sidewalk and stepped up onto it. Then he started making his way up the street, hoping that he ran into the National Guard again before he either fell or passed out from the pain.

  He was six-foot-four and the Sheriff of this freakin’ county, and it would be embarrassing as hell to drown on the sidewalk.

  “Maggie.”

  Boudreaux watched as Maggie’s eyes moved behind her lids. He wasn’t sure how long she’d been out; he might have drifted off for a few minutes as well. But before she’d lost consciousness, she’d been acting confused, had said something about the way the light reflected on the bay, and then wondered aloud how long a rooster could go without grit.

  He didn’t know if it was shock or perhaps a head injury, but she wasn’t okay. He wasn’t okay, either; in fact, he was surprised to still be breathing. But if he died shortly, she’d be out here alone and not thinking clearly. It was time to go.

  “Maggie,” he said again, almost yelling.

  Her eyes fluttered open and blinked a few times against the rain, which was falling more gently, but still falling.

  “Crap,” she said quietly.

  “We need to get you back to the house.”

  Maggie lifted her head and looked at him. “You can’t. The more you move, the more you’ll bleed.”

  “Then you go.”

  “No. I’m not leaving you out here.”

  “You’re not staying.”

  “Someone will find us soon.”

  “Who? Coco?” he asked sharply. “Nobody’s coming, Maggie.”

  “My Dad will,” Maggie said. “He’s not sitting around in Jacksonville. I promise you my father is already riding to the rescue.”

  Boudreaux felt a weight inside his chest as he watched her head drift back down to the pallet, saw her eyes shut. He blinked a couple of times as his eyes became warm and full, then he swallowed hard and slid his upper body off of the pallet, wincing as his abdomen seemed to come apart.

  He splashed a handful of water into her face and she opened her eyes and threw up a hand to smack his away.

  “I’m going to your house now,” he said as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her with him. “And I would appreciate it if you’d come with me in case I need someone to carry my intestines.”

  Wyatt thought someone was coming up behind him on a little scooter, which would have been odd, but when he turned around, he saw Axel Blackwell pulling up alongside him in a little aluminum flat-bottom.

  Axel, a shrimper friend of Maggie’s from way back who was considered one of the local “hotties,” was wearing a Boss Oyster baseball cap and smiling around a cigarette, looking for all the world like he was out after some catfish.

  “Hey, Tripod, how’s it going?” he asked Wyatt.

  Wyatt stopped and gave Axel a look. “Dandy, Axel. How are things with you?”

  “Not too bad,” Axel answered. “Can I give you a lift somewhere?”

  “I need to get out to Bluff Road.”

  Axel tossed his cigarette butt into
the water. “Bluff Road is screwed up, man. Trees down everywhere.”

  “I heard. But I need to get out there.”

  “Why?”

  “Nobody’s heard from Maggie.”

  “Nobody’s heard from anybody, Wyatt. Phone service sucks.”

  “Yeah, well, she was supposed to be in Jacksonville yesterday.”

  Axel squinted at Wyatt as he pulled a cigarette out of the pack in his flannel shirt and lit it. “That’s different,” he said, blowing out of plume of smoke.

  “Think you can take me to some National Guard guys so they can run me out there?”

  “Man, they’re all over the place. But they’re not getting out to Maggie’s in those old cargo trucks.” Axel stuck the cigarette between his teeth and took another drag. “I got something that’ll get us there, though. See if you can climb in without tipping us the hell over.”

  Wyatt sighed and made his way over to the little boat. It didn’t actually look like it would hold the both of them, but he didn’t have any other ideas, and he needed to get out there to Maggie and the kids.

  Sky and Kyle sat on the window seat, staring out the window at the flooded yard, and eating slices of bread from the bag.

  “What time do you think it is?” Kyle asked.

  “I don’t know. With no sun, it’s hard to tell,” Sky answered, and handed her crust to Coco, who was sitting with her head draped onto the window seat.

  “How long do you think she’s been gone?”

  Sky swallowed, not really wanting to answer. “I’m not sure, dude. Maybe a couple of hours?”

  “I think it’s more.”

  “I said I don’t know, Kyle,” Sky said, snapping without meaning to.

  “Sorry,” Kyle said quietly.

  Sky sighed. “Me, too.”

  He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, he didn’t look at her. “I wish Dad was here.”

  Sky blinked a few times as her eyes watered. “Yeah.”

  “He could figure out what to do.”

  “Mom’s smart, too, Kyle. And she’s tough.”

  “I know.”

  They were silent again for a few minutes.

  “You know, you look so much like him,” Sky said finally. “Sometimes, when I look at you, it makes me feel better.”

  He looked over at her, and after a moment, he nodded. “That’s cool.”

  Sky was uncomfortable with intimacy and “sappy stuff,” so she looked away and distracted herself by watching Stoopid as he pulled at a thread from the little hole he’d dug in the corner of the loveseat.

  Kyle followed her gaze. “She’s gonna be kind of pissed about that, I bet.”

  “Duct tape,” Sky answered.

  Maggie slogged along just behind Boudreaux, feeling like her lungs and her legs were competing to see which one would give out first. She didn’t know how Boudreaux was doing it.

  Every now and then, she looked down into the water, and saw thin tendrils of blood swirling toward her, then separating and passing her on either side. She was wading in his bloody wake, and even though it wasn’t a lot of blood compared to earlier, she didn’t know how he still had some left.

  They finally got past the dense clump of trees that marked her property line, and Maggie let out a deep breath as she realized that she was back on her own land. It didn’t look like home, but it was. The vegetation was much thicker here and she couldn’t see the house yet, but she knew it was there.

  She looked over at Boudreaux. He was a good five inches or so taller than she was, and the water didn’t come quite up to his waist, and she was glad that she was slightly behind him. She’d stolen one glance at his midsection earlier, had glimpsed a ragged tear and very pale, puffy flesh within it that should not have been visible to her. It had scared the crap out of her.

  She looked at him now, saw the flash of his gold watch as he swung his arms over the water, and thought how odd it was to see him looking anything less than immaculate. He’d always exuded such a relaxed elegance. She thought, too, about the way he’d looked at the Cajun festival, just a couple of months ago, handsome and fit and full of energy, like a man twenty years his junior. It made her sad, somehow, to wonder if she’d see him dancing there next summer.

  Wyatt gaped as Axel slid open the huge doors, letting more water spill into a building at Scipio Creek Marina that was normally used to house boats.

  The pickup truck itself looked like a neon blue cake topper, perched on tires that probably came up to Wyatt’s chest.

  He looked over at Axel, who was grinning around the hind end of yet another cigarette.

  “What the hell do you have this for?” Wyatt asked him.

  “Mud racing, man.” Axel pulled a set of keys out of his back pocket. “I got a vehicle for every situation.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” Wyatt said, as he hobbled toward the thing.

  “Lemme grab you a step stool, man.”

  “I haven’t needed a step stool since I was seven,” Wyatt snapped.

  “You do today, peg leg.”

  William the florist stood on the balcony of his and Robert’s apartment, on the second floor of one of Apalach’s many Victorians. He lit his cigarette and took a grateful drag of both it and the fresh air.

  He loved Robert dearly, but after twenty-six years, he really could only handle so much togetherness in a space with boarded-up windows. The only light they’d had was from the French door to the balcony, which only remained uncovered because Robert didn’t allow smoking in the house, and William wouldn’t make it twenty-four hours without throwing Robert down the stairs if he was forced to go without. He’d rather replace a door than a lifelong partner, so there it was.

  The rain had all but quit and, although there was still no sun, the sky had lightened to a sickly gray rather than a threatening one. This thing was almost over, and all they would have to contend with was a foot or two of water in the flower shop and a bunch of slippery insurance agents.

  He heard a rumbling noise, an engine, and expected to see one of those hideously outdated Army trucks when he leaned over the rail to look down the street. Instead, he saw an apparition.

  “Robert!” he called through the open door. “Come look at this nonsense.”

  Robert stepped out from the living room. “What?”

  “That,” William said, pointing with his cigarette.

  Robert stepped over to the rail and looked at the bright blue truck headed their way, leaving a wake behind it that sent waves to either side of the street. “Oh, for Pete’s sake.”

  “Look at these idiots,” William said. “Just hanging out like the place isn’t flooded. Like we’re not having a hurricane, thank you.”

  “We’re still here.”

  “We’re still here because we’re not going to some Hampton Inn in Tallahassee where they only pretend to change the sheets,” William said. “We’re inside playing Uno by candlelight like normal people, not out carousing the streets in our ogre truck.”

  “Monster truck.”

  “Whatever.” The truck lumbered past as William shook his head. “They’re probably looters.”

  “Please. We don’t have looters.”

  “Really? We don’t have ogres, either, but there they go down Sixth Street,” William said, and blew out of mouthful of smoke.

  “So what’s the deal with Maggie?” Axel asked around a new cigarette.

  Wyatt brought his head in from the passenger side window, where he’d been checking to see if they were as high as he felt.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “You think she just missed the window for getting out of town, or what?”

  “I don’t know. That doesn’t sit right,” Wyatt answered. “She was ready to hit the road at like six yesterday.”

  “Trouble with the Jeep, maybe?”

  “Maybe.”

  It could be trouble with the Jeep, combined with a hurricane, and added to a lack of cell service. That was all just a
little too coincidental for Wyatt, though he really didn’t have any concrete ideas otherwise.

  He looked out the windshield and got the sensation that he was coming in for a landing. It made him a little queasy, so he looked back out the window.

  “How’s she been doing? You know, since David.”

  “She’s doing okay,” Wyatt said after a moment. “They’re doing okay.”

  “I haven’t seen her since the funeral, but I really don’t know what to say, man,” Axel said. “I’m not that great at meaningful conversation.”

  Wyatt turned and looked at Axel. “You guys were really close, right?”

  Axel glanced over at him. “Me and David? Yeah, best friends since junior high.”

  “Is that why you and Maggie never dated?”

  “Me? And Maggie? No, man,” Axel said. “She was beautiful—still is, but I try to go for the least compatible match I can find. Besides, she and David were together forever.”

  “Since her christening. Yeah, I know.”

  Axel looked over at him and grinned. “Kind of intimidating, isn’t it?”

  Wyatt frowned at him. “How do you mean?”

  “Geez, Wyatt. You guys don’t really think it’s that much of a secret, do you?” He smiled as Wyatt tried to look confused. “I mean, it’s not in your face obvious, but it’s not all that hard to see, either.”

  “We’re not dating, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “I’m not implying crap, I’m saying you guys have something going on.”

  “We work together,” Wyatt said, and looked back out the window. “I’m her boss.”

  “I’m Petey’s boss, too, but we don’t actually try real hard to look like we’re not seeing each other, you know what I mean?” Axel tossed his cigarette out the window. “Besides, David told me.”

  Wyatt sighed and looked over at Axel.

  “Hey, he was okay with it,” Axel said. “As okay as you could expect, anyway. He liked you.”