by Ralph Walker
“Nothing. It isn’t South Street.” Moesha snapped.
Hunter looked at Simon and doubled down. “The feds cleared it early, but no one has picked it over yet, not once since the flood.”
“You think there is something worth finding there?” Simon asked.
“It doesn’t matter. The river blew it out. You’ve seen the maps. Those streets got power washed. There isn’t going to be anything worth looking for.” Moesha settled.
“I don’t think so. When the Atlantic charged up the rivers and the water turned back into the city some of the streets were sluiceways, but not all. Sure Penrose, Passyunk, Oregon got punched in the mouth, but they run east west.”
“So?”
“Twenty Fourth Street runs north south. We’ve all seen it. Some streets are underwater, but barely have any damage at all. The water came up slower, calmer in a few places. I think it is worth a look.”
“There was nothing there worth saving before the rise.” Moesha said.
Hunter swallowed the sting. “Maybe not in the stores, but there were wealthy people living in the apartments. They must have had silver, brass, maybe some jewelry?”
“I’m not dry-walking. Anything above the high water line is still stealing.” Roy piped up.
Another burp of large bubbles popped next to the boat.
Roy was right. They couldn’t ransack dry floors, but Hunter didn’t need anything above the second story. Dot and Sherman’s colonial had fully flooded. Only the attic and roof deck remained dry in the surge. Last week’s flyover pictures gave Hunter hope.
“Tesso swiveled back on her chair and called from the cabin. “How much did you get so far?”
Hunter rifled through his dry bag. “Eight prescription bottles, an Epi-Pen, two IV bags, a couple of faucets, some copper pipe. Enough.”
She nodded at Roy. “And you got your toys?”
He nodded back.
She got out of her chair and walked the deck, scanning the rest of the divers. “Everybody is already getting paid today.” The divers all nodded. She stopped in front of Hunter. “You know something about this block.”
“I do.”
“You want to go so bad. Give it up.”
Hunter swallowed. “That section of Naudian is a pretty rich block. I used to help people out in that neighborhood, handyman type stuff. Seemed like any other block, but everyone was a little richer; nice watches, jewelry, collectables. Everyone paid in cash. I know at least one guy kept his valuables in a floor safe, the watertight kind.” Enough was true that he kept the whole boat’s attention.
“How would you know about the safe?” Simon asked.
“I put it in, between the floor joists.”
“When you were fifteen?”
“Twelve. My Dad was the one they hired. He could build just about anything. I tagged along and helped out.”
“A floor safe sounds promising.” Moesha pulled a map up on the dive tablet.
“Might be enough for one, but I got a boat full of divers. What else is there Hunter?” Tesso wasn’t convinced.
“There are two banks on the block.”
“ATMs are a waste of time. Too much work to salvage and the parts are worth less than the cash inside.” Roy said.
Hunter had played his last card. If his story wasn’t enough they would surely skip the block today, maybe all together.
“Pawn shop!” Moesha called out. “Sign said ‘Diamond Broker’ too.” The owners had an apartment on the block. They weren’t going anywhere.”
Roy smiled. “Hard goods. I can get behind that.”
Simon leaned across Moesha to Hunter. “I thought you said this was a rich block?”
Moesha slapped Simon on the cheek playfully. “Some people are rich in ways you just wouldn’t understand.”
Tesso turned back to the cabin. “Sounds like we have a winner. We only have an hour to dive. Everybody in?” She started the engine back up, not bothering to wait for an answer. The flat boat cut a hard turn sending a foamy wake in all directions.
Hunter lost his balance and reached for the rail. He missed and grabbed Moesha’s arm instead.
“Don’t go getting fresh. You got your dive.”
Hunter’s eyes widened. He slid back to his place.
Moesha’s face softened, flashing a stark white smile against her coffee face. “Tell me about that safe.”
“Second floor, under a four poster bed.”
“Am I gonna find your baby pictures in it?”
Hunter looked at her in disbelief.
She turned the tablet so he could see it. A search page for the phone book was open next to the map. “Ceppelli right?”
There was no denying it. His name was printed in black on his dry bag and the leg of his wetsuit.
“This is your parent’s house?”
“Grandparents. Don’t tell.”
“There ain’t nothing to tell. I’m not looking for heirlooms. I’m in this for the good stuff.” Her finger was on the corner building with Mr. Hiltor’s pawn shop. “Diamonds right?”
Hunter nodded.
“Perpendicular current.” Simon yelled over the motor. “Top water is running eight miles an hour west to east. There might be an undertow. This is real close to the confluence between the Schuykill and the Atlantic.”
“So this is a waste of time. Nothing should be standing.” Roy said.
“The roofs are still there. It could be a lagoon. Maybe the currents balanced each other out.” Hunter had been thinking about this for days.
Simon shook his head. “Wishful thinking. If the pressure somehow balanced, I’d bet as soon as somebody pops a window the whole place comes down. There is no way this section is stable.”
“So stay on the boat if you don’t have the stones to dive Simon.” Moesha dared. “All of Philly is unstable.”
The engine quieted.
“Gear up.” Tesso commanded. “We’re here.”
Barely a floor of the old colonials peaked above the water line. Skirts of broken branches gathered high around the trunks of street trees. One flat roof was piled with crates and suitcases. More than half had been opened and rifled through by weather or wanderer, or most likely wind. A dress fluttered in the breeze, its hanger caught on a roof gutter. It was the same as almost every other street Hunter had seen, but that was his grandparent’s house. That was his mother’s dress.
“The pawnshop was there on the first floor.” He pointed southwest, the opposite corner from the fluttering polka dots. “The valuable stuff is either in the basement or the second floor. I’d check both.”
“Are you sure?” Roy asked.
He looked back at his fellow divers. Sure you aren’t going to find anything of value. Mr. Hiltor only ever dealt in rhinestones, digital watches and pop guns. “Pretty sure. Look for the blacked out windows.” Hunter needed the time. He started to ready his gear.
Moesha was already ready to dive. She had washed out the filter on her rebreather and cleared her snorkel. Two orange dry bags were knotted to her shoulder straps. A finisher’s claw hung from her belt and a shiny set of pointed of pointed brass knuckles weighed down her unwebbed hand. She smiled at Hunter as if she might eat him for lunch. “Smash and grab, right!”
He shrugged on his own kit and knotted the bags at his waist. “Yeah, smash and grab.”
Simon was kneeling over the rail, fingers in the water. He stared at the water surface trying to read the currents. “You see that?” Two blocks down, a peaked slate roof floated by, chimney and all. Simon counted out loud as it passed. “Top water has to be going at least ten miles an hour.
None of the divers paid much attention when Simon got like this. His head spun around looking from face to face for someone else to reinforce his anxiety.
“Tesso?”
“What Simon?”
“Are we moving? I mean do you have the engine going? You are pushing against the current to keep us in one place. Right?”
Tesso
stepped away from the Captain’s chair, putting her hands halfway up. “Do you hear anything?” The ignition key hung from her fingers in plain sight. The whole boat was still, floating midblock, barely a ripple in the water. “Are you getting wet?”
Simon looked past the key at the islands of brick and shingles, resting in still water. “Where is the stake?”
Moesha pointed to the low rise brick building that marked the corner. “You better hurry if you think I am going to share any of those diamonds.”
Simon’s eyes followed the ridge of water that crossed just beyond the face of the target building. “The confluence between fast and slow water is the most unstable part of the current. You don’t know what you’ll find.”
“Exactly, so go find something. You’ve got fifty minutes. Simon, if you don’t dive you can swim back. We’ll go to South Street on our own.” Tesso restarted the engine.
Hunter leaned into Simon. “Stay north of the intersection. The whole thing is an eddy. Calm waters.” He pulled on his mask.
“No such thing as calm. Held back, or contained maybe, but it is just waiting to flow.” Simon pulled his filter and cleared it.
#
Six divers flipped over the side in unison. The first four swam straight for the corner, but the other two didn’t rush. Hunter sank straight down under the boat, wanting to put space between him and the rest of them. Simon was just a slow coward.
Hunter fell all the way to the street before turning on his headlamp. The street looked mostly clear, almost clean. The postbox was still mounted to the sidewalk. Doors were still on their hinges. The windows weren’t even broken. It was eerie swimming here. It was as if someone had turned on all the bathtubs on the block, and let them run forever. Stuff that floated found its way out, but anything bolted down had stayed in place.
Hunter started for number eighty eight, following the path he would have taken from the bus. It was weird to swim instead of walk. The nylon straps of his diving gear cut into his shoulders like when his old backpack, weighed down with school books, used to. Tiny bits of his old life swirled about. His headlamp caught scraps churned up when the waters rose; plastic shopping bags, a broken child’s car, the cover of a smoke alarm. The rest had fallen, collecting in the corners like piles of leaves in the fall, caught between stoops.
“Six on the pawn shop.” The crackle startled him. No one communicated much at the start of a dive. Everyone was looking for their own stake before they helped out the rest of the boat.
Six steps up, the black door with its brass knocker looked unharmed. Hunter rolled down the waistband of his wetsuit and pulled out a single key. His grandfather had never trusted anyone with that key before, just like his father had never trusted anyone with the keys to his truck. The stamped brass slid into the deadbolt and turned with a jiggle. Kicking his feet, Hunter pushed open the door.
Between the swelling and the rug the door only cracked open eighteen inches before locking in place. He could have popped the hinges or busted the frame, but that was a last resort. Hunter unstrapped his rebreather and pushed it through in front of him as he swam in the house. He didn’t even bother unclipping his spool. He knew his way around.
The living room looked as if someone had picked it up and dropped it. The brown leather couch Sherman loved to nap on, was cracked and swollen in a corner. Stacks of beloved books and magazines were nothing more than wet rags. Somehow the pictures had stayed on the walls. Hunter kept moving.
Nana’s kitchen was mostly cleaned out. She was the one who had insisted they leave. Sherman had called her a busy body, but she was always plugged in. The under counter monitor was still hanging over the stove, splattered with grease. She loved watching the feeds while she cooked, keeping up on the latest murder investigation or crime report. Every Thanksgiving she made an extra apple crumb cake to walk down to the firehouse. As he got bigger she made Hunter carry it for her, and she introduced him to each of the ‘Heroes of Engine Company nine’.
Maybe she was being overdramatic, but she had started packing before the water mounted the first step. They had been lucky the flatbed started that day. Sherman only had it to replace the fuel pump for Dad the night before. He never did finish fixing the radio.
“Twenty minutes. Status report.” Tesso was in his ear.
“Four cleaning out the pawn shop. Roy and I are scouting for the diamonds. Basement is mostly collapsed. I don’t think Ceppelli had it right.” Moesha said, more for Hunter than Tesso.
“Hunter?” Tesso scolded through the static.
“Did they clean out the second floor? Try the apartments next door. I think they owned those too.” He wanted more time.
“Where are you?” Moesha asked.
Hunter swam up the stairs.
“Who has eyes on Ceppelli?” Moesha asked.
“He’s midblock. There is a door cracked. Number eighty eight.” Simon said.
“Are you with him?” Tesso asked.
“No. My spool got caught up. I’m outside.”
“Safety first Simon. Safety first.” Moesha taunted. “I’m coming to you.”
The door to his grandparent’s bedroom wouldn’t budge. Sherman must have closed it tight before they left. Now swollen, the opening was the strongest part of the wall. Hunter swam into the adjacent room, his father’s childhood bedroom, and found the closet. Closet walls were always the thinnest in these old colonials. He remembered listening through the walls while his mother searched for him on the other side as they played hide and seek. He pulled a drywall knife from the sheaf at his leg. The jagged blade made short work of the wall board, leaving a hole between the studs just large enough.
The bedroom was a disaster. Small unrecognizable bits of his grandparent’s old life swirled around. Once they had decided to leave Dorothy hadn’t worried about the state of affairs they left behind.
Hunter swallowed hard. He wished his parents had heeded the same warnings.
He pushed the waterlogged mattress and frame up and over. The safe was recessed in the hardwood floor, fully exposed. The false floorboards had floated out of place. Hunter knelt focusing his light on the dial: eleven, six, fifty four. Sherman always used his wedding anniversary for the combination, said it was the only way he could remember. Hunter wasn’t sure if he meant the combination or the anniversary.
The dry safe door popped open and a gasp of air escaped around Hunter’s face. Grey brown water flooded in. A stack of papers almost as old as his family immediately began to disintegrate. Ink divorced from pulp. Paper curled over on itself. Hunter grabbed what he could, trying to stuff the birth certificates and deeds, and wedding licenses into the dry bag. They were lost, his family’s paper history washed away in still water. A few trinkets lay in the bottom; a pair of medals from Sherman’s father’s army service, a short string of pearls, an opal ring, a dozen coins from some other shore. Hunter stuffed them all in, wishing he didn’t have to claim his inheritance this way.
A light crossed the room.
“There you are.” Hunter heard Moesha in his ear. She was floating outside the bedroom window along with Simon and Roy. “Find your baby pictures?”
Hunter didn’t wait. He cinched the bag shut and swam for the closet. He ran the compressor as he moved, caving the rubber in on itself, tight to its contents. There was one more thing he needed.
Moesha smashed the glass with her brass knuckle, getting inside in an instant. Ray ripped the hinges off the bedroom door, while Moesha cut the frame. Hunter was already up the stairs when they broke through.
Water topped out a foot above the last step. Hunter splashed out, feeling the weight of his gear. The attic was the hardest. His parents had moved up there after Dad’s job was gone. Hunter couldn’t linger over the four poster bed tucked under the dormer. He went straight to the deck.
The screen door was off its hinges. Muddy water splashed around his knees. Outside he pulled up his mask, catching his breath. Cushions floated, trapped inside the railing. T
he metal chairs were long gone. Across the submerged courtyard, a row of five roof decks all poked out, just like the one he stood on. He remembered playing in the yards below, under a canopy of strung up laundry and chattering neighbors, calling across the rooftops. His mother used to sit up here and talk with his grandmother while he scampered about below.
Trapped between the row houses the water was still.
The pots were still there!
Moesha crashed outside. “Why are you up here? What are you doing? Taking in the view? If you are done diving get back to the boat. You are going to lose your stake if you keep this shit up.”
Hunter kneeled in the water and looked under the leaves. The fruit was plump and purple and red. A few had already burst, but at least six looked healthy. He unzipped his wetsuit and pulled a hand towel from his breast.
Moesha looked over his shoulder. “Tomatoes? You came out here for tomatoes? What was in the safe Hunter?”
He plucked a fist sized tomato from the stem and cradled it in his palm. “My inheritance.” He wrapped the fruit and placed it tenderly in a dry bag. “These are Morados, my family’s heirlooms. Do you want one? More are ripe on the vine than I can carry.”
“I don’t want one of your goddamn tomatoes! Tomatoes don’t pay the bills. Where is the jewelry, the cash, the diamonds? This your house, your neighborhood. Where are the fucking valuables?”
The water started to ripple. Hunter held out a second tomato to Moesha.
She shook her head. “There isn’t anything here is there?”
“Here, take one. It’s the last of their kind. There aren’t any more like them.”
The house started to shift. Simon emerged from the attic, his spool unwinding behind him. Ray followed, untethered.
“The structure is breaking.” Simon called out. His head turned on a swivel, barely holding back panic as he looked for an escape route.
Ray still had his mask on. “Tesso will bring the boat to us.”
“Where is she?” Simon asked.
Hunter pointed to the main roof. Simon and Ray didn’t wait, pulling themselves up and over, back towards the street.
“The pawn shop just collapsed.” Simon called back, now in full panic. “We have to go.”