Hurricane Boy

by Laura Dragon

  PELICAN PUBLISHING COMPANY

  Gretna 2014

  To the lost children of Katrina

  Copyright © 2014

  By Laura Roach Dragon

  All rights reserved

  * * *

  The word “Pelican” and the depiction of a pelican are

  trademarks of Pelican Publishing Company, Inc., and are

  registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.

  * * *

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Dragon, Laura Roach.

  Hurricane boy / by Laura Roach Dragon.

  pages cm

  Summary: “Twelve-year-old Hollis Williams and his family endure Hurricane Katrina in the Lower Ninth Ward of New Orleans. After the storm, he has to help piece his family together in a drowned city”— Provided by publisher.

  ISBN 978-1-4556-1916-0 (pbk. : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-1-4556-1917-7 (e-book) 1. Hurricane Katrina, 2005—Juvenile fiction. [1. Hurricane Katrina, 2005—Fiction. 2. Survival—Fiction. 3. Family life—Louisiana—Fiction. 4. African Americans—Fiction. 5. New Orleans (La.)—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.D7823445Hu 2014

  [Fic]—dc23

  2013031747

  Printed in the United States of America

  Published by Pelican Publishing Company, Inc.

  1000 Burmaster Street, Gretna, Louisiana 70053

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1: Storm Warning

  Chapter 2: Weather Idiots

  Chapter 3: Anticipation

  Chapter 4: Just Another Day

  Chapter 5: Disaster!

  Chapter 6: Stranded

  Chapter 7: Chopper

  Chapter 8: Hero

  Chapter 9: Rescuers? What Rescuers?

  Chapter 10: Insulin

  Chapter 11: Oh, Gee

  Chapter 12: A Gift from Above

  Chapter 13: Basket Case

  Chapter 14: Shelter-Jacked

  Chapter 15: Stuck

  Chapter 16: The Others

  Chapter 17: Dead Ends

  Chapter 18: Families

  Chapter 19: Rebound

  Chapter 20: Red Beans

  Chapter 21: Lolo and the Po-Po

  Chapter 22: The Right Thing

  Chapter 23: Hard Heads

  Chapter 24: Katrina’s Kids

  Chapter 25: Critical Conditions

  Chapter 26: Right Direction

  Chapter 27: The Vote

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank the following people for their help and support in writing this book:

  Matthew Paine Thacker, grandson of Dr. Lincoln Paine, who gave his opinion after reading the manuscript of this book. His advice was to change the name from “Katrina Kids” to something else because “no self respecting fifth grader is gonna read a book called Katrina Kids.”

  My many friends at SCBWI and Realms of Fiction, who all have bits and pieces of their suggestions somewhere in these pages: Randy, Rebecca, Teena, David W., Pat, Phina, Carrel, Virginia H., Virginia B., Paul, Alicia, Wendy, Ray, Terri, Sue, Patsy, Damon, Taryn, Hunter, and David B.

  Julie Gonzalez, who went above and beyond in reading and critiquing revision after revision of this book. Her suggestions were invaluable.

  Cheryl Mathis, whose support and advice I couldn’t do without on any of my writing.

  Mary Faucheux, who pitched my book to Pelican and found me a second chance.

  My wonderful parents, who always believed in my writing.

  Gilbert Worthy, my friend and muse, whose ability to help me feel safe at work was memorialized in the character of Mr. Red Beans.

  Anderson Cooper, whose support of New Orleans was memorialized in the character of Harry Hathaway.

  The late Russell Mancuso, who gave me a colorful description of his time spent in the Superdome after the storm.

  Chapter 1

  Storm Warning

  Hollis Williams scowled as he stumbled on the same hump of buckled sidewalk he’d climbed over almost all eleven years of his life. This time, one of the broken sections tilted under his feet. His angry look snapped into one of wide-eyed surprise, and his arms pinwheeled as he lurched off the chunk into the grass. He kicked the loose slab.

  “Guess nothing’s going right today, either,” he said as he shook a fat drop of sweat off his forehead. “Sleeping away from home’s s’posed to be fun. Gee finally lets me go, and the whole thing sucks!”

  He rubbed more sweat from his face into the tight black kink on his head, kicked the sidewalk again, and trudged on his way, avoiding other pieces of shattered pavement. Across the street, the noise of a neighbor dragging out her trash can caught his attention.

  “Miz Doucet!” After a cursory glance up and down the street, he darted into the road toward her.

  The tall, dusky woman positioned the can at the curb, wiped the drips off her face, and grinned. Hollis stood on tiptoes, slid an arm around her shoulders, and whispered in her ear. “Anything left?”

  A rich chuckle shook the woman’s large belly. “Oh yeah, honey.” She poked him in the side. “Think you should?”

  “Definitely!” he said, withdrawing his arm so as to better guard his side from her finger.

  He pulled four grubby bills from his pocket and held them out toward Miz Doucet. She plucked them from his grasp and, with the crook of a heavy finger, motioned for him to follow her.

  “Usual?” she asked as they entered her kitchen.

  Hollis nodded, his eyes glued to the refrigerator.

  “I’m guessin’ you folks know about that storm,” said Miz Doucet, swinging open the door to the icebox.

  A cold fog swirled into the room, its chill brushing Hollis’s neck.

  “Hear it’s a monster.” She handed him a small orange pie, and his stomach growled. “There you go, baby.”

  “Haven’t heard anything,” said Hollis. “Been over by Darnell Scott’s since Friday. They didn’t mention it.” He raised his eyebrow at Miz Doucet. “There was drama.”

  Cradling the mini sweet potato pie, he lifted the pastry and took a huge bite. The cold, tangy custard soothed his irritation as it oozed into the corners of his mouth. He rolled both his eyes and his tongue in delight. Miz Doucet chuckled at his expression and shoved a pineapple drink into his grasp.

  “Drama, huh. They fightin’ again?”

  Hollis nodded.

  “Hmph! Well, get on home, now. You boys need to help Gee get the house ready. Storm’s supposed to hit in the mornin’.”

  “Fanks, Mif Doufet.”

  A crumb-coated grin flashed her way, and Hollis disappeared out the door. Another huge chomp finished the pie, and he savored the rich aftertaste of brown sugar and cinnamon all the way back to the sidewalk.

  A green Charger with a black nose and clusters of black stars on the hood idled in the driveway next door. Hollis’s eyes wandered over the flashy paint job as he wiped his hands on his basketball shorts. Two men leaned into the driver’s side window and exchanged money with the car’s occupants. One of them straightened and glared at him.

  A pang of fear shot through Hollis, but he turned and ambled down the block as though he had no worries. At the next cross street, he eased a look over his shoulder.

  The Charger sat where it had before, the men still huddled around it. His heart gave a relieved bounce and, as a seagull streaked past overhead, he raced its shadow down to his street.

  Pausing in the shade of an oak allowed him to finish his drink and catch his breath. His house loomed ahead. He noticed a wheelchair sitting on the front porch, and irritation overcame him once more. What’s she doing outside?

  His empty bottle sailed across several feet of lawn into a neighbor’s garb
age can, and he pumped his fist to celebrate the point before heading to his house.

  “Why you out here, Gee?” he called as he jogged up the driveway. “Heat’s no good for your sugar.” He waved at her right leg, which ended at the knee. “Lost this. Don’t want to lose nothing else.”

  His grandmother pointed a bony, light brown finger. “My sugar? My business! You missed a passel of work today.”

  “Yeah? Heard there was a hurricane. Boards on the windows yet?”

  “Jonas got most of ’em done. He’s in the house restin’ himself. You can help finish.” She scowled. “I’m out here ’cause Leta’s busy watchin’ those weather idiots make a big deal outta everythin’, like they do. Sayin’ the same things over and over. ‘Gloom, doom, death, and disaster’—over a hurricane! Like we ain’t had one of them before!” She fanned herself with her National Enquirer. “Came out to let her get her fill.”

  “Hurricanes are great!” Hollis said, hopping onto the porch. “No school tomorrow.” He drifted toward the door.

  “Hold on!” Gee snapped her fingers. “I let you spend two whole days out, and you still late gettin’ home. You were s’posed to be back afore noon. Havin’ too much fun to call?”

  Hollis’s gloom reappeared, and he jabbed the toe of his shoe into the boards of the porch. “Wasn’t too much fun.”

  “Oh yeah?” Gee flicked her hand toward a spot by her wheelchair. “Park it.”

  He glanced at her, decided she didn’t look too mad, and settled down on the top step. His breath whooshed in surprise. The blazing afternoon sun had left its mark on the step and was now leaving its mark on him. The nylon basketball shorts gave little protection, and he wriggled around seeking a cooler spot. A sharp fingernail peck on his head reminded him to sit still. He did. An angry Gee could cook your butt, too.

  Silence lingered. Hollis scraped at the peeling paint on the broken rail that ran along the stairs, and the familiar scent of gardenias surrounded him. Dusting powder, Gee called it. The hotter it got, the more she used. By August, she carried around more dust than a Hoover. Inhaling the flowery smell, he wished she would get on with whatever it was she wanted to say.

  “Need to go help Jonas with those boards,” he said.

  Fingers, gentle this time, plucked at his curls. A smile tugged at the edges of his frown.

  “Bad night?” she asked.

  Hollis nodded.

  “Tell me.”

  Hollis shrugged. “Friday was okay. But on Saturday, Darnell’s folks started fighting, and finally, last night, his dad . . . lit out.”

  “I see.” She brooded a moment. “He back?”

  “Didn’t come back ’til today.” Hollis pulled his knees up under his chin. “I didn’t sleep much.”

  “That why you late? Waitin’ to see if he’d come back?”

  Hollis nodded.

  “Darnell worried?”

  “No. He said they’d done this before and his dad’d be back.”

  “That not good enough for you?”

  “No. I told him to stop his dad from leaving.”

  “And he wouldn’t.”

  “He said he wasn’t getting in their fight.”

  Gee gave a bark of laughter. “Darnell’s not so slow as I thought.”

  “What if his dad didn’t come back?”

  Gee raised a brow. “Like yours?”

  Something gripped Hollis’s chest and sent his head spinning. He squeezed his eyes shut as Gee’s face blurred. The tears he’d kept away last night threatened to make their appearance.

  “Think you could have kept Jonah from leavin’ us?” Her voice was tart.

  “Maybe,” he said, taking deep breaths to clear his dizziness, “if I’d known he was going.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She rubbed the hairs on her chin. “You was in bed when it happened. Well, we didn’t know it’d be the last time we’d see him, and I don’t see us wakin’ up a six-year-old even if we did. Not sure what you coulda done. Man was set on gettin’ away.”

  From y’all. He noticed Gee watching and turned away.

  “Jonas ran after Jonah that night. You know that about your brother?”

  Hollis turned back, staring. “He did?”

  Gee nodded.

  “He never said.” Hollis’s eyes were wide. “What’d Dad do?”

  “Nothin’ good. He’d been drinking all day, as usual.”

  Hollis’s brows snapped together, and he dropped his forehead onto his knees. A bee buzzed past his ear, and Gee’s last words hung in the air. Hollis knew no more would follow until he lifted his head. He jerked his chin up.

  Gee had her “I’ve got all day” look on her face.

  “So what happened?” he asked.

  “Have to ask your brother.”

  Hollis scowled. “He won’t tell me. When I ask anything about Dad, he shuts up.”

  Gee brushed her fingers down his face to smooth away his frown. “Your dad causes trouble even when he’s not around. Sorry Darnell’s troubles made you think about him.”

  I think about him all the time. But he only said, “Thanks, Gee.”

  “Go find yourself something to eat. There’s ham. That’ll make you feel better.”

  “Not hungry.” He grinned. “I also stopped at Miz Doucet’s.”

  Gee snorted. “The 7-11 of the Lower Ninth Ward. Pecan pie?”

  “Sweet potato.”

  “She charges too much. Ah, well. Guess you earned it. All that worryin’ and no sleep.”

  Hollis nodded. He knew she would never understand how he felt about his dad, but talking about it had helped. “Thanks, Gee.” He scrambled up and headed for the door.

  “Eh, eh!” Gee tapped her cheek.

  Hollis backed up, leaned over, and kissed her cheek.

  “That’s better,” she said, and Hollis slipped into the house.

  Chapter 2

  Weather Idiots

  The comfort of air conditioning closed in on him. The outside of his house might have been falling apart, but the inside held everything he needed: two overstuffed couches, thick carpet, and a big TV. It all was faded and threadbare, but it was cozy. And it all worked. At Darnell’s house, the stovetop heated up, but they hadn’t been able to use the oven in years.

  Hollis’s backpack hit the floor, and he wandered over to the TV, where his nine-year-old sister Leta and five-year-old brother Algernon crowded close, their eyes fixed on the screen. Peering over Leta’s pigtails, Hollis saw a picture of the Gulf of Mexico with a huge swirl of clouds covering the entire region.

  “That the storm?” he asked. “Sure is big.”

  Leta nodded.

  “Still coming our way?”

  “Yeah,” she answered, not taking her eyes off the screen. “Gee needs to keep up. It’s already a category five.” She turned around with a significant look. “Worse than Betsy. She was only a three.”

  “Won’t matter if Gee watches. She’s out there going off about ‘weather idiots’ again. Anyway, it’s not like she can stop it. Is it really hitting tomorrow?”

  “I guess. You missed the market.”

  “Yeah? Who went—not Algie?”

  Leta laughed. “No, or we’d be up to our ears in ‘nanna sausages.’ Jonas drove and I got the hurricane food.”

  “Poptarts?”

  “Yep. And SPAM.”

  Hollis winced. “No!”

  Leta grinned. “No. I know you hate it.”

  “Crowded?”

  “Very.”

  “What did Jonas do while you got everything?”

  “Flirted! With Aisha Chase.”

  “She’s a new one. Figures he wouldn’t help when he had you along to do the work.”

  The front door opened and Gee hollered, “Hollis! I need you.” Hollis hurried over and struggled to roll her inside. Once the door was shut behind him, he used the toe of his shoe to lock her wheels in place.

  “Leta, turn off that TV. You and Algie have seen enough, and I can’t take a
nymore. Hollis, find your brother and get those boards done.”

  As Hollis turned to leave the room, Algie climbed up on the couch and started bouncing.

  “Why we ain’t l-leavin’, Gee? They s-sayin’ on the TV w-we gotta leave. Where can we g-go?”

  Hollis froze, wanting to hear her answer.

  Gee’s voice lashed out. “Algie! What have I told you about jumpin’ on the furniture! Leta! I said turn off that TV!”

  Algie dropped to his knees and scrambled to sit with his hands in his lap. Leta fumbled with the controller, and the television went dark.

  “We’re not leavin’ because I’m not spendin’ ten or so hours on the road just to turn around and come home again. My back won’t take it.”

  “We didn’t go anywhere when Ivan hit last year, did we Gee?” Leta asked. She reached around Algie and hugged him. “And nothing happened.”

  “Ivan. He missed us. Most of ’em do. Those fools who ran away back then looked real silly when they hit town again, didn’t they?”

  “I guess,” Algie said. “Can I have a snack?”

  “No cookies,” Gee warned.

  Algie disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Gee?” Leta asked, watching Algie go. “What if it doesn’t miss us? The TV said this storm is going to be really, really bad, and it might not turn.”

  “Well, it’ll have to. I don’t have the money to traipse off to Baton Rouge or Texas like other folks do. No one in the Ninth Ward’s gonna leave no matter what those weather idiots say. Most folks on this block don’t even own a car.”

  Algie reappeared from the kitchen with an orange in hand for Leta to peel.

  “Now, hush,” said Gee. “Leta, you and Algie start gettin’ stuff offa the floor in case water comes in. I see you over there, Hollis. How come you ain’t hammerin’ yet?”