The Rift

by Walter Jon Williams

  “So what’s the plan?” Jason asked.

  Nick shrugged. “Find a place that doesn’t blow up?” he offered, then sighed. “I wish I’d contacted my family when I had the chance,” he said. “They’re gonna be worried. They knew I was driving down to Toussaint.”

  “You have a daughter, you said? In Arkansas someplace?”

  “Yeah.” Nick’s hand went to his shirt pocket, then fell away. “She’s having a birthday tomorrow—today, I mean.” Discouragement lined his mud-streaked face. “Guess I won’t be there.”

  “Is she at school, or what?”

  Nick looked down at his work as he answered. “She’s with her momma. We’re divorced.” Sadness drifted through Jason at the word, at the timbre of failure he heard in Nick’s voice. It suggested that the divorce hadn’t been Nick’s idea.

  Jason nodded. “I know divorce, all right. And birthdays. That telescope we’re using—that was a birthday present from my dad. But I think his new wife picked it out for him.”

  Nick nodded. “Divorce is hard on the kids. I always been thankful my parents had a good marriage.” He reached into his pocket, took out a box covered in muddy velveteen. “Here’s what I got for Arlette.” He opened the box. Jason leaned close and saw gold glowing bright, the glitter of diamonds and rubies. Some kind of flower thing. “That’s pretty,” he said.

  Nick had probably picked out the necklace and earrings himself, too. Jason could tell by the pride in his face.

  Nick closed the box and returned it carefully to his pocket. “I wanted to give it to her today,” he said.

  “Well.” Jason glanced around at the river, the dense ranks of trees that lined the channel down which they traveled. “We’re heading in the right direction.”

  Nick rubbed his face, brushed at the drying mud. “They’re worried for me. I know they are.” Jason felt an urge to be supportive. “We’ll get there,” he said.

  “I just wish I’d used the radio last night. But I was so tired…”

  “We’ll find another radio. Or a telephone. Or something.”

  Nick shook his head. “I wanted to call her at breakfast. I wanted to get her before she went to school.” It didn’t seem like much, talk to his daughter before school. But it was very clear that Nick had counted on speaking to Arlette, and now that he hadn’t, he was so downcast that he couldn’t seem to get beyond his failure.

  With something like a mental shock, Jason found himself wondering if his own father had been through similar agonies. His parents’ divorce had always seemed something they had chosen to inflict on him, yet another example of the random cruelty that adults always imposed on their children. That his parents might have been in pain themselves was a new and surprising thought.

  “Fend off, there,” Nick said.

  Jason snatched up a boat hook and pushed away a large chunk of frame building, a shed or chicken house, that threatened to run aboard the bass boat. His shoulders flamed with sunburn as he shoved the building away. Once the boat was out of danger, Jason put down the boat hook and sat again on the foredeck. He was surprised to see Nick watching him with sober eyes.

  “Yes?” Jason said.

  “You did a good thing back there,” Nick said. “You may have saved our lives.” Jason looked at Nick in surprise. He felt a flush mounting in his skin. He wasn’t used to adults finding reason to praise him.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “A lot of people might not have figured it out. You knew how to put two and two together.” He looked down the river. “We’ll be okay if we just keep our eyes open.”

  Jason nodded and felt awkward. He really didn’t know what to do when a grownup told him he was smart. It wasn’t as if it had ever happened before.

  Nick brushed at his face again, knocking flakes of mud to the deck. He looked around at the smears of Mississippi ooze that covered the boat and its passengers. “Maybe we better try to clean up,” he said.

  “Wash off some of this mud. Clean up the boat.”

  “Okay.”

  “And then put on some sunscreen. I found some in the towboat.”

  “We’re going to need to fend off first.”

  That frame building had come back, floating again toward the bass boat as if intent on climbing into the cockpit. Jason stood and picked up the boat hook. Nick’s praise made him feel stronger, more capable. Fired with purpose.

  He leaned into the boat hook and drove the wreckage away.

  Messrs. Cramer, Spear & Eichbaum Printers, Pittsburgh

  Gentlemen:

  Your being editors of the useful guide, The Ohio and Mississippi Navigator, induces me, for the sake of the western country traders to inform you as early as in my power the wonderful changes for the worse in some parts of the Mississippi river, occasioned by the dreadful earthquake which happened on the morning of the 16th of December last, and which has continued to shake almost every day since. As to its effects on the river I found but little from the mouth of Ohio to Neiv Madrid, from which place to the Chickasaw Bluffs, or Fort Pickering, the face of the river is wholly changed, particularly from Island No. 30, to Island No. 40; this part of the river burst and shook up hundreds of great trees from the bottom, and what is more singular they are all turned roots upwards and standing upstream in the best channel and swiftest water, and nothing but the greatest exertions of the boatmen can save them from destruction in passing those places. I should advise all those concerned to be particular in approaching Island No. 32, where you must warp through a great number, and when past them, bear well over from the next right hand point for fear of being drawn into the right schute of Flour Island, Island 33, which I should advise against, as that pass is become very dangerous unless in very high water. Two boats from Little Beaver are lately lost, and several much injured in that pass this season. Boats should hug the left shore where there is but few sawyers, and good water and fine landing on the lower point of the island, from there the next dangerous place is the Devil’s Race Ground, Island No. 36. Here I would advise boats never to pass to the left of the island and by all means to keep close to the right hand point, and then close rowid the sandbar on the lower end of the schute is very dangerous and the gap so narrow that boats can scarcely pass without being dashed on some of the snags, and should you strike one you can scarcely extricate yourself before you receive some injury. From this scene you have barely time to breathe and refresh, before you arrive at the Devil’s Elbow, alias the Devil’s Hackle, Islands No. 38 and 39 by far the worst of all; in approaching this schute you must hug close around the left hand point until you come in sight of the sand bar whose head has the appearance of an old field full of trees, then pull for the island to keep clear of these, and pass through a small schute, leaving all the island sawyers to the right, and take care not to get too near them, for should you strike the current is so rapid it will be with great difficulty you will be able to save, your boat and cargo.

  Letter of James Smith, April 10, 1812

  The morning’s SITREP had a lot fewer unknowns on it. Information was starting to flow into Mississippi Valley Division headquarters. Most of the information was bad, but even bad news was better than waiting in suspense for the next unanticipated horror.

  In addition to gathering information, Jessica had largely assembled her Joint Division Team, which would coordinate civil works projects and disaster relief throughout her assigned area. She’d appointed the JDT’s Chief of Staff, Subordinate Command Liaison, the Chief of Operations, the Staff Engineer, the Counsel, Contracting Officer, the Chief of Public Affairs—who would coordinate press briefings from a tent reserved for the purpose, provided of course that the press could ever find their way here through the disaster area.

  As called for in the plan, Jessica had even appointed an official Economist. Rather more useful in the current situation was the Clerical Specialist, who was now assembling out of stores the inventory necessary for the JDT’s operation. The necessary inventory included Facsimile Machine
(auto feed, programmable, plain paper); Binder Clips, large; Binder Clips, small; Correction Fluid, white; Forms, Tasking; and Rubber Bands, assorted sizes.

  Jessica was pleased to observe a Pot, Coffee on the list. Before this emergency was over she planned to make a significant dent in the inventory’s Cups, foam, 8 oz.

  Morning birdsong—the throb of helicopters—floated into her command tent, as it had been doing since before dawn. Jessica finished her second cup of breakfast coffee and threw the Cup, foam, into the trash. She rose from behind her desk and sought out her husband.

  Pat was in the communications tent, helping the techs with their Computers (Database for mission tracking). “Hey, runner!” she said.

  Pat was gazing into the innards of a three-year-old—and therefore rather antique—IBM, and trying to fit a modem card into the slot. He looked up. “Ma’am?” he said.

  “Tell Colonel Davidovitch that I’ll be TDY for a few hours, okay?”

  “Now?” he said.

  “Yes,” Jessica said. “Orders generally mean now unless otherwise stated.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He returned the modem card to its bubble wrap. “You know,” he said, “Jeb Stuart had someone on his staff just to play the banjo.”

  “If I need a banjo player, you’ll be the first one I’ll call.”

  An aftershock bounced the ground as Jessica made her way to the helipad, one vertical jounce after another. Jessica weaved slightly as she walked and tried not to twist an ankle. She had seen to the recovery of MVD headquarters, which was now capable of surviving without her for a few hours. Her new Helicopter (Transportation, for use of) waited for her. She wanted to make a personal inspection of her division.

  And if things were as bad as she expected, she’d have to call her commander-in-chief and tell him what he needed to do.

  “Sugar bear,” said Sheryl, “I think it’s time to put up my Apocalypse.” Frankland paused, his hand poised with the razor to shave the dimple on his receding chin. He had tried to make certain that men remained shaved, and that everyone wash their face and hands before meals. Good for morale, he’d thought.

  “Yes,” he said, “yes. I’ll help you in a minute.”

  After he finished shaving, he helped Sheryl carry her linen scrolls from her workroom to the church. Frankland got Hilkiah and some of the others to drive wooden stakes into the ground, and Sheryl unrolled her opus and stapled the scrolls to the tall wooden stakes so that they formed a long, fabric wall, with occasional gaps so as not to provide a continuous surface that the wind could more easily damage. Frankland was awestruck. There was the Apocalypse in all its glory, blazing in the brightest color: John of Patmos cowered before the Son of Man. Seven golden candlesticks burned in the darkness; seven angels held seven vials; four beasts each with six wings clustered about the Throne; four Horsemen rode across a petrified world; a red dragon with seven heads and seven crowns; a woman unfurled the wings of an eagle; a scarlet woman on a scarlet beast; Babylon laid in ruins; the City of God descending to the earth in a glory of light. All in the most astounding detail, down to the leering tongue of the Beast and the malevolent glitter in its eyes.

  It was magnificent. More beautiful, Frankland thought, than the Whatchamacallit Chapel in Rome. People were wandering up to look at it. Pointing, and marveling. Sheryl’s face glowed with pride.

  “I’m so proud of you, sweetie pie!” Frankland said. “It’s the most gorgeous thing I ever saw.”

  “It’s what we should all expect,” Sheryl said. “It’s what everyone will need to know in order to survive the next seven years.”

  “You should take the rest of the day off, sweetie pie,” Frankland said. “Just stay here with it and be like, you know, a tour guide. Explain to the people what they’re looking at.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Frankland gave her a big kiss, right there in public.

  The Apocalypse glowed around him, on its wide linen walls.

  There it was on the water, like a giant wedding cake built against the left bank of the Mississippi. Tier upon tier of white lace, twin stacks topped by elaborate gold crowns, an enormous stern wheel with its blades painted vermilion.

  Nick gave a nervous laugh as the giant boat grew nearer. “That’s the weirdest thing I ever saw. Right in the middle of all this wilderness.”

  lucky magnolia casino, said the scarlet letters on the side, in some old-timey script. Jason looked at Nick over his shoulder. “Hey,” he said, “want to play some slots?”

  “We must be in Mississippi,” Nick said. “Everyone from Tennessee comes down here to spend their money.” The last time he’d driven Highway 61 south of Memphis, it seemed as if there had been dozens of casinos, each with its own stoplight on the highway, as if every driver in Mississippi was forced to halt in honor of the money flowing toward the state from the north.

  When Nick had been a kid, driving to Mississippi to visit his grandparents, there had been nothing on that road but wilderness, cotton fields, and desolation. Now the wilderness was overflowing with gold. Nick gave it some thought. “Casinos have restaurants,” he said. “We could get more supplies. And we could prepare the food properly in the kitchen.”

  “It would be nice not to sleep on the boat tonight,” Jason added. “I did it once, and that was enough.”

  “Right,” Nick said. “Let’s give it a try.”

  Jason crawled over the foredeck and started the trolling motor. As they came closer, they saw the casino had suffered earthquake damage. Some of the white gingerbread had fallen, and it looked as if the inshore stack would have toppled if it hadn’t been held in place by cables. Several windows were cracked or broken.

  The casino loomed over them. It looked as huge as an aircraft carrier.

  “Hook on,” Nick called, and he and Jason each reached out with a boathook and snagged the rail. They brought the bass boat alongside and tied it to a fluted pillar that supported the deck above. Jason gauged his movement, then jumped to the casino boat and legged over the rail. Nick followed more cautiously. He peered through a window into the darkened interior. “Here’s a restaurant,” he said.

  “There’s got to be a kitchen next door.”

  The first door was locked, but the second opened to a corridor that led into the restaurant. A stack of menus lay spilled near the entrance. The restaurant featured green faux leather booths and brass torchieres, their gleam dimmed by the gray light outside. At one end of the room, the remains of a buffet supper sat beneath swarms of flies at a cold steam table. There were plates and glasses on the white linen tablecloths where meals had been interrupted by the catastrophe.

  “Here’s the kitchen,” Nick said. He walked past a waitresses’ station and pushed through a swinging door.

  The kitchen was cold and dark, lit only by a single cracked window. A row of burgers, grease and cheese congealed, waited on a counter for a waiter to pick them up. The flies hadn’t got through the swinging door to find them.

  The freezers and refrigerators were huge, with brushed steel doors. Nick opened one of the refrigerators and eyed its contents.

  “We better stay away from anything that could spoil,” he said. “The power’s been off too long.” Jason wandered over to the range, turned the control for a burner. There was a hiss of gas, and the repeated clicking of an igniter, but nothing lit. “We can cook,” he said, “but I think this needs to be lit with a match.”

  Nick opened a freezer, pulled out packages of meats that were still frozen. “We got chicken, beef, fish, sausage… how about pork chops?”

  “They all sound great to me,” Jason said. Ever since their interrupted breakfast, he’d eaten only from cans. He opened a tap in the sink, felt his heart lighten at the pouring water. “We’ve got water, anyway,” he said.

  The tap water reminded him of an errand of nature. He turned off the tap. “I’m going to see if I can find a toilet,” he said.

  “You like broccoli?” Nick said, hefting a package.
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br />   Jason shrugged. Vegetables were all one to him. “Whatever,” he said. “I’ll see you in a minute.” He left the restaurant and padded along a thick carpet in an inner corridor, then walked down a ramp into a huge semicircular food court. Burger King, he saw in the dim light, Pizza Loco, Ragin’ Cajun, Baskin-Robbins. Plastic tables and chairs lay scattered where the earthquake had thrown them. It’s like a mall, he thought.

  Somewhere near the food, he thought, there had to be a toilet. He found it, did his business, then discovered there was enough water pressure in the sink to manage some washing. He cleaned his face and neck and arms and looked at his hair in the mirror, glued into thick strands by mud and sweat. He wished there was a shower so that he could wash his hair.

  Maybe, after dinner, he’d come back and try washing his hair with hand soap. It would make it stick out funny, but it was better than wearing mud for mousse.

  Jason stepped out into the food court again and paused for a moment. Beyond were the gaming tables, slots and video poker machines standing in silent ranks.

  He wondered if any of the gamblers had left their money behind when the earthquake hit. The thought seemed worthy of exploration. He walked into the huge central room, fingers idly exploring the coin trays of the machines as he passed. He didn’t find any money.

  The blackjack tables had spilled cards and spilled chairs, but not a single spilled coin or token. Dice lay on the craps tables, and drinks sat waiting for gamblers to return, but there was nothing on any of the tables resembling currency. Jason concluded that the casino employees had done a very thorough cleanup before they abandoned ship.

  Jason hopped up to one of the big roulette wheels and gave it a spin. It moved with silent ease. Two ivory balls sat waiting in a slot by Jason’s hand, and he picked one up and hefted it. He’d never seen roulette except in the movies, and he tried to remember how the croupier had thrown the ball into play. He tossed it with a flick of his wrist, but the ball bounced right down onto the spinning wheel, caromed across, bounded back, and jumped straight into one of the slots on the wheel. Not very professional. They should use a plunger and spring, Jason thought, like in pinball. There was a loud crash, the sound of breaking glass, and Jason gave a guilty start and looked up wildly. He wondered if Nick had broken something, and then he heard a loud whoop echo through the cavernous room, and he knew that he and Nick were not alone on the Lucky Magnolia. High-pitched laughter followed the whoop, and then the laughter was joined by a deeper voice. There were at least two other people aboard.