Authors: Walter Jon Williams
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #Post-Apocalyptic
This was more difficult in the present day, when many quarries throughout the country had been closed as uneconomical, and when rail transport to the area had been severely compromised by earthquake damage.
It was then that Jessica realized that a lot of the necessary materials were already at hand. It didn’t have to be a
pretty
island, it just had to be reasonably solid— solid enough to keep the river from undermining the reactor. The earthquake had shattered tall buildings, highway bridges, and masonry structures of all descriptions. The broken bits were going to have to be swept up anyway. So why not put them on transports and ship them to Poinsett Landing?
Poinsett Island would be constructed of the debris caused by the earthquake that had made the island necessary in the first place. That, plus some other necessary material to string it all together.
There was a pleasant irony in that, an irony that Jessica intended to appreciate to the full.
A roar began to sound from over the treeline to the east. Jessica glanced at her watch.
“Right on time,” Jessica said to Larry. “Watch this.”
A CH-53 Super Jolly helicopter appeared over the treeline, moving with deliberate speed toward Poinsett Landing. Slung beneath it in a steel mesh cargo net was ten tons of island material. Half of it was pipe casing intended either for oil or water wells. Much of the rest was broken power and telephone poles, plus the wires that held them together.
“Operation Island,” Jessica said blissfully. Her words were drowned by the deafening sound of rotor blades.
The Super Jolly plodded out over the river, the downblast from its rotors turning the waters white. It hovered for a moment upstream of the reactor, over buoys that had been set as aiming points, then the net was tripped and, with a grating roar, ten tons of material spilled into the Mississippi. Pipes and power poles flung themselves like spears into the riverbed. As the weight was released the copter bounded upward as if yanked into the sky by an elastic band. White water leaped as the debris struck the surface of the river. The roar sounded like Niagara. Tall, confused waves leaped from the site.
All that was left, as the helicopter roared away, were the tops of pipe and poles, and some of the tangle of wire that surrounded them. The inchoate structure lay about half a kilometer upstream from the power plant.
Jessica did not want to start at the nuclear plant and built upstream. In such a structure there was the possibility that the weight of the structure would actually
increase
the water pressure on the buildings. Rather, in building something this unprecedented, Jessica had chosen to emulate the technique of the North American beaver. The upstream part of a beaver dam was built first, and the rest filled in afterward.
Jessica would build a solid breakwater upstream from the plant, a huge tangle of pipes, timber, wire, and earthquake debris. As with a beaver dam, the pressure of the river would eventually wedge everything into a solid position. Once this was constructed, she would backfill toward the power plant, eventually engulfing its structures.
No sooner had the Super Jolly cleared the area, moving much faster without its cargo, than another copter appeared, this one a Super Stallion. Jessica had arranged a regular relay of big heavy-lift helicopters rolling in from the nearest railhead in Jackson, where tons of earthquake debris were being moved by rail. Each Super Jolly could carry ten tons, but the big Super Stallions hauled sixteen tons each.
In a matter of days, a fair-sized island would have grown up around Poinsett Landing.
Jessica felt a broad smile spreading across her face. “Isn’t it
great!”
she asked.
PART TWO
M6
TWENTY-TWO
I shall advise all those descending the river not to take the right hand of Island No. 38, as it appears entirely choked up with drift and rafts of sawyers. When through these bad places the worst is over, only fuller of snags, but mind well the directions in the Navigator and there will be no danger. Run the Grand Cut-off No. 55, in all stages of the water, and hug close the right hand point, this pass is good. Take the left of St. Francis No. 59, left of No. 62, right of large sand bar and Island No. 63, and right of No. 76, in all the different stages of the water. All these channels are much the best and safest. Should this be the means of saving one boat load of provisions to an industrious citizen, how amply shall I feel rewarded for noting this, whilst with gratitude I acknowledge the obligation we as boatmen are under to you for your useful guide, that excellent work The Ohio and Mississippi Navigator, much to be valued for its accuracy and geographical account of this immense country.
I have the honor to be, gentlemen, your sincere friend and humble servant.
James Smith (February 18,1812)
Bored out of his mind, Jason strolled on the hatches of
Beluthahatchie’s
barges. Then he heard a yell, and turned to see one of the crew waving from the pilothouse.
“Hey, Jase! Your dad’s on the radio!”
Jason’s heart gave a lurch. He sprinted aft, jumping from one barge to the other until he clambered aboard the towboat and ran to the pilothouse. He grabbed the handset, raised it to his lips. He gasped for breath, spoke. “Dad?”
Jason’s heart hammered a half-dozen times before the answer came. “Jason?” His father’s intent voice. “Are you there?”
“Yeah, Dad. It’s me.”
“You’re still on the boat. The Beulaz-something.”
“Beluthahatchie.”
“I’ve been trying to get through to you for days. All the marine radio operators are jammed up with thousands of messages ...”
“
Frank
,”
Una’s insistent voice, breaking in on another line. “Ask how he
is
.”
“I’m fine,” Jason said. “Got a little sunburned, that’s all.”
There was another little pause. Jason realized that Frank and Una were still far away, maybe still in China.
“I was so sorry to hear about Catherine,” Una said.
Jason was silent. He couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Are you still in China?” he said finally.
Another pause. “Yes. In Guangzhong. If you’ll get a pen, I’ll give you the number of our hotel.”
Despair floated through Jason as he jotted down the number. The least his father could have done was flown to the States.
“Are they treating you okay on the boat?” Frank Adams asked.
“Oh sure. Everyone’s been real nice. They’re letting me and Nick use their radio whenever we like.”
“Nick?” There was a flicker of intent interest in Frank’s voice. “Who is this
Nick,
exactly?”
Jason wondered where to start. “He’s a refugee, Dad. I found him on the river.” He paused, then added, “He’s about your age, I guess.” Trying to demonstrate that Nick was a responsible citizen, not someone who was going to lead him into trouble.
He knew better than to report that Nick was black, had been shot by a cop, and had been found in a tree. This would not boost his father’s confidence in his choice of traveling companion.
“And you traveled together,” Frank said.
“Yes. For a couple days. He’s been trying to get to his daughter in Arkansas.”
“And you were in a boat? Was this Nick’s boat?”
“Uh, no.”
So Jason had to explain about his neighbor’s bass boat, and how he’d used it to get off the Indian mound and gone down the river without meaning to. And met Nick the next morning.
“So you were on the boat for two days?”
“Well, not
that
boat. We got another boat later.” The memory of stranding Junior and his friend on the
Lucky Magnolia
was too wonderful to resist, so Jason told his father what happened, how he and Nick had found themselves on the casino boat with the two thieves, and how they’d stolen their powerboat.
“And Nick let you do this?” Frank Adams said. Jason was surprised by his father’s frigid tone.
“Well,” Jason said, “he didn’t
stop
me.”
“I can’t believe he put you in so much danger.”
Jason licked his lips, tried to get his thoughts in order. “He really didn’t have much to do with it, Dad.”
“Well, he
should
have.”
“This Nick doesn’t sound like a very responsible person,” said Una.
“He didn’t
know
,”
Jason said, “that there were thieves on board.”
“He just
let
you walk into this danger?” Frank demanded. “Of all the
stupid, thoughtless
...”
“Nick’s really okay, Dad.”
“He is
not
okay.” Firmly. “I don’t know what the man was thinking of.”
“I—” Jason groped for words. “You’ve got it wrong, Dad.”
Frank went on as if he hadn’t heard. “Now where is this boat you’re on? This
Beulah Hatchie,
or whatever.”
“Well,” Jason said. “We’re somewhere south of Helena. But the boat’s aground on a sandbar at the moment.”
“It’s
what?”
“But it’s okay,” Jason said. “It’s not sinking or anything. It’s just that the river changed, and—”
Frank Adams snorted. “I don’t know how a
river
can
change,”
he said.
“If you were here,” Jason said, “you’d know.”
Frank sounded as if he were trying very hard to be patient. “So what you’re telling me is that you’re stranded. You’re not going anywhere.”
“I don’t think the captain sounds very competent,” Una contributed.
“He’s fine, Una,” Jason said. “The boat’s going to Cincinnati when we can get it afloat. And that shouldn’t take too long, the captain says, because the river’s rising.”
“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, then,” Frank said. “When you get to Cincinnati, there will be a ticket waiting for you. And then you’ll fly to Syracuse, and your aunt Stacy will be waiting for you.”
“Aunt Stacy?” Jason couldn’t believe he was hearing this. His aunt Stacy, who was actually his great-aunt, lived in upstate New York. Though she was kind, he couldn’t see spending the whole summer with her. She was elderly and didn’t get out much, and where she lived there was nothing to do.
“Why can’t I come to California?” he asked.
“Our apartment is really too small for a family, Jason.”
Horrid visions of staying forever with Aunt Stacy flashed through Jason’s mind. “Wait a minute!” he said. “I was coming in August.”
“That was just for two weeks, Jason,” Una said. “If you’re coming to stay for good, we’ll need more room.”
Hatred blazed in Jason’s heart. He had never hated anyone so much as he hated Una in that instant.
“Una and I will look for a house,” Frank said. “We’ll have it all ready for you when it’s time to start school in the fall.”
Jason was appalled. “I don’t even get to see you?” he said.
“I can’t come,”
Frank said. His voice was almost a shout.
“They won’t let me come and get you.”
Jason blinked. “What?”
“The government isn’t letting anyone fly into the quake zone!” Frank’s voice was almost a shout. “They aren’t letting phone calls in. You can fly
out,
you can call
out
if you need help, but I can’t get
in
to you.
They won’t let me come!”
There was a moment of silence. Jason could hear atmospherics hissing from the radio speaker.
“Once you get to Syracuse, I’ll come see you,” Frank said. “They’ll let me fly there. But in the meantime the only way I can talk to you is to get a radio operator to try to call your boat.”
“Fly me to California,” he said. “I don’t want to go to New York.”
“We’ve been into that. There’s no room in our apartment. I’ve talked to Aunt Stacy, and it’s all arranged. Now could you hand the receiver to the captain of the
Beulah-
whatever, so I could talk to him?”
“He’s not in the pilothouse at the moment.”
“Could you go get him, then?”
From the sound of it, Jason’s father planned to give Captain Joe some orders.
Which he did. Captain Joe opened the conversation with a cheerful, “Hi, y’all,” but soon fell silent as Jason’s father began to speak. This went on for some time.
When the conversation was over, Joe put his arm around Jason’s shoulders and walked with him down the companionway. “Your poppa’s got a lot of opinions,” he said.
“Yeah,” Jason said. “I know.”
“He wants me to keep you away from Nick. He seems to have something against that man.” He gave Jason a look from under one bushy eyebrow. “Is your poppa prejudiced or something?”
“No,” Jason said. “He’s a lawyer.”
Captain Joe nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Now I understand.”
*
Nick heard Arlette’s voice over the sound of hammering. Some of the family, she had explained, were up on the roof, replacing the shingles that had spilled during the big quake. “We’re trying to get the house in shape,” she said, “because we don’t want it to fall apart if we have to leave.”
Sudden anxiety clawed at Nick’s heart. “You’ll be leaving Toussaint?” he asked. “When?”
“That depends on the bayou. Looks like it’s getting set to rise. And I’ve never seen it run so fast.”
He had wasted too much time, Nick thought as he rubbed the nearly healed wound on his left arm. He should have taken the speedboat to Toussaint after the first night on the
Beluthahatchie.
But it had been comfortable on the boat, and
safe,
and he’d been able to talk to Arlette every day. And every time he thought about getting back on the river again, a bloated body would float by.
He and Jason had been on board five days. He’d talked to Arlette twice a day.
And he’d tried to get in touch with Viondi’s family, but there was no answer at Viondi’s number, or his plumbing business, or at the numbers of Viondi’s sons that Nick’d been given by directory assistance. He wondered if the whole family had been wiped out.
Finally, after several days, he’d got an answering machine at Viondi’s business. He hated to pass on the news by machine, but he had little choice: he identified himself and told the machine that Viondi was dead, and that he’d try to call later.
When he called the next day, he didn’t even get the machine.
“The phone exchange is sandbagged,” Arlette said. “And we’ve got pumps running. But if the bayou gets much higher, we could lose the phones. Half the people here are living in the second floors of their homes already. So Gros-Papa is getting everyone organized to leave by boat. He and Gilly and Aunt Penelope are going to stay and look after things.”
Nick bit his lip. “How are you going to get out? The river’s a mess.”
“We’re not going to follow the river. We’re going to follow the
road.
In our boats, it shouldn’t matter if the roads are torn up or the bridges are out.”
“Honey. The roads might be blocked. A lot of trees and power lines have fallen down.”
“We can float around obstructions, Gros-Papa says. But we’ll have chainsaws just in case. And plenty of food.” Her voice turned reassuring. “We’ll be okay, Daddy. We know where we’re going.”
Should have gone there,
Nick thought.
Should have been there for her. And for Manon.
“Besides,” she added, “we’ve
got
to leave. Did you hear the President’s address? We’re getting our water from the bayou— we can’t keep on drinking it, not with the fertilizer plant upstream.”
The President should
be doing something,
Nick thought.
Something besides making speeches.
“I’m coming to you, baby,” Nick decided. “You just hang in there for another couple days, and I’ll be there.”
“I want to wait for you, Daddy.” She hesitated, then spoke. “But it’s the bayou that has to wait.”
With Captain Joe’s assistance, Nick plotted his river journey in the chartroom just below
Beluthahatchie’s
pilothouse. Down the Mississippi, up the White River to Lopez Bayou, and up Lopez Bayou to Toussaint Bayou.
“But it’s not goin’ to look like this, podnah,” Captain Joe said. “Everything on the map is nice an’ neat, but you can look right out this window here and see how
neat
this river is.” He looked down at the map and tapped the Arkansas Delta with a big knuckle. “This is
all
goin’ to be under water. It will be hard to find the channel. Some of the navigation markers are goin’ to be missing, others will have moved. The White River may have shifted its mouth— already done it once— and you maybe won’t be able to tell one from the other. There ain’t no towns on that stretch at all. Your marks are gonna be these three lights— Clay Wilson, Smith Point, and Henrico Bar. If the lights are there at all— they could all three have been wrecked.”
He shook his head. “If you get to the light at Montgomery Point, you’ve gone too far. This Napoleon light here—” tapping again with his knuckle “—that’s on a town that the river took over a hundred years ago. Napoleon, Arkansas. You used to be able to see parts of it at low water, but now maybe even the
light
ain’t there.” Captain Joe looked at Nick and tugged on his grizzled mustache. “This river just went through a big change, podnah. Maybe Napoleon’s above water again. Maybe some other town’s under. This map will prob’ly just get you lost. All’s you can hope to do is stay in the river and out of the batture.”
“The what?”
Joe gave a laugh. “Batture’s an ol’ Louisiana word, podnah. Means the floodplain, between the levee and the river.”
Nick looked down at the map, felt his jaw clench. “Can you give me some paper?” he asked. “I’d like to make some notes.”
“Hell, podnah, take the maps.” With a grand gesture, he tore three maps out of the spiral-bound Army Corps of Engineers map set. He opened more long, flat drawers in his map chest, withdrew more maps. “I can give you maps of the White and the Arkansas, too,” he said, “but they ain’t up to date. We ain’t gone up there in years.”