People Park (47 page)

Kellogg reached for Elsie-Anne, caught her arm. Come on, Annie, he said.

But the girl stood fixedly in place. She seemed apart from everything, facing north, almost hypnotized.

What’s out there, Annie? said Kellogg. If you’re looking for Mummy —

With a surprising burst of strength she squirmed from his grasp, stepped into the eavestroughs, and dove off the roof. A frothy channel furrowed the water as she zipped away into the flood.

Annie! Help! Someone, help!

Heads turned, Kellogg was regarded with mild confusion, but the line pressed forward as more folks were rescued. Kellogg peered into the dark. His daughter’s trail was fading. What could he do? He jumped in after her, swallowed a great gulp of bitter water, came up gargling.

His daughter’s purse appeared with a plop.

He splashed toward it. Behind him the yacht’s engines chugged, the stranded became passengers, celebrations abounded. The purse bobbed just beyond reach, the flood’s oily sheen pocked with reflected stars.

A ripple, a pause — and the purse was sucked under.

Annie?

Something brushed his feet. Down in the depths the purse whisked by. Sucking in a lungful of air he dove, swam, saw nothing, surfaced, wheezed, dove again. A shaft of light from the rising moon illuminated the
IFC
billboard: the screen in some subaquatic drive-in. Beyond it the water was bottomless.

Kellogg swam deeper down, lungs tightening. Far below something wriggled in the gloom, thick and serpentine, and released — what? A jellyfish maybe, which fluttered past. No: an Islandwear sweatshirt. Kellogg snatched it — empty — screamed
his daughter’s name, three syllables the water muddied to bubbles.
His face and throat had gone taut, his lungs burned. He looked down and up and around and everywhere was the same vast void.

And now the snakish thing appeared again, uncoiling. Was it summoning him? Kellogg’s head tingled, the blood fizzed through his veins, he felt limp and not quite there. Something ropy and thick tightened around his ankle and began almost tenderly towing him down, and the blackness opened up, it was ravenous, he had nothing left, he’d forgotten everything, why was he here, for whom, his vision blurred, and the last thing Kellogg saw, hauled down toward it, were parallel white bands aglow in the darkness. The lights of a bridge maybe. Or were they teeth.

ONE OF THE
newscopters flew low over the Museum’s roof, nosing down for a spotlit shot of the two women waving at whoever might be watching, so whoever was watching might wish them saved. The water slavered between the turrets in a black skim, wetting their feet. The camera rolled. One of the women flipped an obscene gesture and the chopper whirled away into the milky night.

Fuggers, said Adine. They’re not going to help us. We have to get higher.

The Grand Saloon, Debbie said, pointing across the street. The clocktower.

Do we swim?

Can you make it?

Stay close to me, said Adine.

I will.

The building dropped into the water, reeflike. Somewhere down there was Orchard Parkway. But now it was a river. The flood had reached the terrace of the Grand Saloon Hotel’s penthouse, emptied into the suite. Copper gables sloped into the old cathedral’s spire, and the bare clockface resembled a tired moon lapsing into the sea.

Hurry, said Adine.

They jumped, twin splashes, neither’s head went under.

Okay? said Debbie

Adine said, Okay.

The current swirled. The flood felt unsure of itself, directionless, waves buffeted them from all sides as they doggypaddled across. The only sounds other than the gurgle and plop of their strokes were the newscopters overhead — though these were fading, heading to the mainland to shoot the escapees as they washed up on the pebbly beach.

THE PIG APPEARED
just as Pearl was beginning to slip under. Her knee had failed her, the flood had filled the common, she’d been forced into it with everyone else. All around her people struggled to stay afloat, calling to one another, Keep paddling — Head up — Stay with us now. As the water reached streetlevel some swam off, Pearl wasn’t sure where or why, past small boats loading survivors, kids first, which then shuttled off with promises of a swift return.

But they didn’t come back, and treading water among the abandoned hopefuls she felt her soaked clothes grow heavy. She kicked off her shoes, yet still some invisible weight dragged her down. She wouldn’t last, she was weak.

And then bobbing along: the pig.

It was a hollow thing of pink plastic. Pearl caught it, slung an arm around its neck, clung there with closed eyes, opened them to discover animals all around: a matching pig, two sheep, donkeys, cattle, lions, a whole zoo’s worth of creatures swimming up in pairs.

The Friendly Farm! someone cried, wrangling a goat.

They’ve come to save us!

There’s room on my rhino, come on!

Nearby a family climbed aboard an elephant, a kid to each leg and the parents on either side of its trunk. Its mate was mounted and claimed as an explorer might some new planet, a woman knelt upon it, arms raised, howling at the moon. More people found floatables, a fleet of them bobbed in the water. Pearl held on, waves buffeted her from all sides. It’s a miracle, someone cried. A miracle is what it is!

This was all drowned out with a fat band of light and a purr of engines. Out of the dark appeared a mirror-windowed and sleekly aerodynamic yacht. A teenage girl waved from its helm. We’re here, she cried, the Lanyesses are here!

Pearl was pulled aboard, the pig went spinning off. Below decks, dozens of survivors wore matching stunned expressions and housecoats. Many sat with teacups dangling from their fingertips, others drifted in and out of private berths, from the lavatory emerged a bearded man in a white bathrobe monogrammed
ISA
.

A woman was close, eyes wide and empathic, hand out. Pearl took it to shake, realized it was clenched in a fist and holding a marker.

Hi, said the woman, I’m Isa Lanyess. Now, actually I was just going to number you so we don’t go over capacity. Turn your hand over?

She wrote the number 16 on the inside of Pearl’s wet wrist.

Still room for one-thirty more! We’ve already rescued our full capacity once, just getting everyone safe. Doing our part because we can. The woman turned to address all the newcomers, dazed and dripping. Good luck with the animaltronics, huh? Now, I’m out of robes but towels are coming out of the dryer soon. Anyone care for some hot cider?

Lanyess, said Pearl.

That’s us! We’ve got the yacht so we figured we might as well help —

You used to be a ballplayer. For the Y’s.

Maroons, pre-Y’s. Funny you’d know me
that
way
. . .
Anyway it’s a small world!

A small world, said Pearl, and this small world responded by tilting vertiginously, swirling into a kaleidoscope of her family’s faces: Kellogg’s, Elsie-Anne’s, Gip’s. Lanyess caught Pearl by the elbows and said, Okay there, I got you, and a sob swelled and burst in Pearl’s throat. There, said Isa Lanyess, yes, let it out, holding her while she wept.

As
The Know
prowled People Park, scooping survivors from the water, the Podesta Tower’s rotations finally shuddered to a halt.

So that’s it, said the Mayor.

With the solar power exhausted the elevator was out too, Diamond-Wood stabbed vainly at the
CALL
button, shot the Mayor a look of panic and dismay. She blinked, her eyelids so heavy it was a struggle to raise them again. She’d never felt so tired.

If you want to leave, she said, there’s always the stairs.

The
outdoor
stairs?

Off the viewing deck was a door marked
EMERGENCY EXIT
with a diagram of a man fleeing flames. Diamond-Wood pushed it open: an alarm would have normally gone screaming through the building, instead the only sound was the muted putter of helicopters. Gripping the doorframe in a skydiver’s pose, Diamond-Wood gazed down into the floodwaters.

Go, said the Mayor, go if you want to. But do you see how they’ve abandoned you?

A soft wind rumpled his hair.

Go!

He paused. But then where, he said. How will they know where to find me? I get to the bottom and then what? And then I’m stuck there, and then the water keeps coming up
. . .
look, everything’s gone — look!

Into the room drifted chemical vapours churned up from Lowell Canal. A trio in a bathtub paddled past, a shower-curtain sail bulged and hustled them toward the mainland, where the newscopters stroked the beach with fingers of white light.

Mrs. Mayor, I’m scared, what should I do?

She shrugged, turned away, looked out over the city.

Her view was that of a ship captain up in the bridge. Other than
Podesta Tower only a few structures broke the flood’s surface:
the
tallest skyscrapers, the spire of the Grand Saloon, the top of the
Thunder Wheel, where bodies swarmed and seethed.

How many hadn’t made it? There was no telling. The Mayor thought of elderly couples entombed in Fort Stone attics as the water crept upstairs, covetous Bebroggers who, retrieving jewellery, had fallen through sodden, wilting floors, or, citywide, the irrevocably lonely who’d spent lifetimes waiting for a chance to end it all — and here it was, dribbling obligingly up to their front doors. The trapped and stubborn, the stupid, the unlucky, the vain
. . .
All those quiet secret deaths, happening unknowably in the night.

After this, she said, we will be even stronger as a city. This is just a test. It’ll pass.

She looked to Diamond-Wood for corroboration, but his back was to her. The smell from outside was ammonia, human waste, spoiled meat.

There’s a boat coming, said Diamond-Wood. I’m going. I’m sorry.

Okay, said the Mayor. Go, ye of little faith. She smiled. Yes, imagine us after this! Just like now, but better, touch green. Imagine it: a place like this one, but everyone’s happier. Or at least they believe themselves to be. What else do people need?

But, turning, the Mayor discovered the boy already gone, helped onto the deck of
The Know
by Edie Lanyess. The yacht went churning north — leaving Diamond-Wood’s crutches twirling in the water like the hands of a crazed malfunctioning clock.

WHAT ARE YOU
doing, why have you sojourneyed from your stroking?

Olpert gestured with his oar: There’s people there, on the spire.

What do you conspire, evil one?

No, the cathedral spire. The Grand Saloon’s. They’re on the top of it.

And?

And we should rescue them.

Pop stared.

What? We shouldn’t? We should just leave them there?

Ah, and so now after a lifetime of esquivalience you wish to play the hero! You pretensualize restribution! Well fine, prehaps this will envisage the airs of your ways!