Another Kind Of Hurricane Part 2

"Sorry," said the firefighter. "I cant. I want to check to see who alls still stranded behind you."

"You gotta help us," said the woman holding the grandmamas other hand.

"Im sorry," he said again.

"Take my mama," said the man. "At least take her."

The old woman opened her eyes for the first time then. Zavion saw her look at the firefighter, smile a faint smile, and, humming all the while, close her eyes once again.

"Get yourselves out of here," said the firefighter. "Who knows if the sky will open up again."

Zavion couldnt imagine more water. That thick, oily taste stuck in his mouth.

"Get to the convention center," said the firefighter.

"Which way?" asked Papa.

The firefighter pointed ahead. "Forward."

No- Up- Up-Up-Up- Zavion thought of Mama again. How she had promised to take him to her mountain. Grandmother Mountain. Up-up-up-to the top. To see the view. To see where Mama grew up. She had said they would go in the fall, when the monarch b.u.t.terflies were there.

"Only well be migrating north, not south," shed said.

"Im sorry," the firefighter repeated. "Im so sorry." Then he paddled off in the direction of Zavion and Papas house.

But there was no house.

Zavion felt in his pocket for the shingles. He laid them flat across both palms. Two shingles was all. But it felt as if he was holding his whole house. It had taken Zavion so long to figure out a way to restore balance after Mama died. And now-his whole house teetered there in his shaking, wet hands.

He closed his fingers around the shingles. He felt the hard, smooth slate. But he also felt wood and nails, his bedroom wall and paint too. Home. He felt home precariously balanced in the palms of his hands. Then he stuffed it all back into his pocket and began to walk again.

chapter 6.

HENRY.

Brae followed Henry up to his room. Henry put his hand in his pocket and touched the marble. Freaking marble. He should have left it outside. Let a bird find it and put it in its nest.

But he didnt.

He couldnt.

He had grabbed it back up.

Henry kicked open his door.

"You scared me!" Mom said.

Henrys clothes were in a big pile on the floor. Some of Waynes too. Mom folded and stacked them.

"What are you doing?" Henry demanded.

"Did you forget about the clothing drive for the victims of the hurricane?" Mom asked. "I wanted to give some clothes to the drive."

He had forgotten. He grabbed Waynes red sweatshirt out of Moms hands.

"Henry-" said Mom.

Out his window, the sun lit Mount Mansfield from behind so that it glowed. Henrys arm shot out. His fist punched the edge of the window frame, a loose joint exploding. Even in his room. Freaking mountain.

"Henry-" Mom said again. "Thats not like you-"

Henry rubbed his knuckles. Shoot, that hurt.

"You said you wanted to donate some clothes too."

Henry turned around. "I know. But not this." He wrapped the sweatshirt around his throbbing hand.

"Its Waynes, isnt it?" Mom asked.

Henry hung his head. "Can you just leave?" he said under his breath.

"Why dont you stay home from school again tomorrow, Henry," said Mom. "Youre not ready yet."

"Please go."

Mom sighed. "Somehow," she began, "I dont know how, but somehow youre going to be okay." She walked out of Henrys room.

"I will never be okay." Henry sat down on his floor. Brae lay beside him and Henry patted the perfect black circle on the top of his head.

Henry unwrapped the sweatshirt from his hand and laid it flat on the floor. It was much bigger than him. Wayne had been tall and lanky, the perfect size for playing shortstop. He could make a diving lunge for the ball and still throw to first for the out. More of Waynes clothes lay on the floor. Henry grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a pair of socks. He laid the pants under the sweatshirt and the socks under the pants. He dug under the heap of clothes and found Waynes Cougars baseball cap, their school team.

"Oh, man." The words were loud and rough coming out of Henrys mouth.

Brae turned his head to see what the fuss was all about.

Henry had built Wayne.

He lay down on the floor on his back, his head almost touching the baseball cap. The night theyd snuck out of the house, they were in sleeping bags at the top of Mount Mansfield. Like this. Head to head. At the top of the world. A billion stars, the two of them and Brae.

Henry sighed. But Brae didnt turn around this time. It wasnt that kind of sound. Instead he curled himself into a ball and settled in, like he had that night on the mountain, for a sleep.

Then both he and Henry, next to the Wayne that Henry had built, closed their eyes.

chapter 7.

ZAVION.

People filled every inch outside of the convention center. A woman bathed her children out in the open parking lot. Poured bottled water over them. Next to her, a man slept on the concrete. Rested his head on a pillow he had made from the edge of a wooden pallet. People everywhere. Fear everywhere. Zavion could see it. It crawled in every corner of the convention center, leaving footprints over everyone.

Papa pushed his way toward a door. His hand gripped Zavions arm. The man and woman and grandmama followed them.

"Hey, Zavion, up you get," said Papa.

Zavion hadnt noticed that his legs had buckled underneath him.

"He needs some food," said Papa. "Excuse me, maam." He grabbed the arm of a woman who was hurrying out. "Is there food and water inside?"

She was scared. Zavion could see the footprints.

"No," she said. "No, theres no food or water in there." Her voice shook. She hurried away.

"Zavion, stand up," Papa ordered. "We need to find some food."

"We all need some," said the woman holding hands with the grandmama.

"Lets you and I go find something," said the man, pointing to Papa.

"I cant leave him," said Papa.

"Hes too tired to walk," said the woman. "Look at him. Leave him with Mama and me."

"I can take care of myself," said Zavion, still on the ground. Feeding himself, feeding Papa, that was his job. He did the food shopping at home. He struggled to stand up. "Ill go," he said. "You all stay here."

"No," said Papa, putting his hands under Zavions armpits. "You cant even stand on your own. Well go together." Papa pulled Zavion up onto his feet. "Thank you all, but Zavion is coming with me."

Zavion and Papa walked through water that was only up to their ankles. The word street floated back into Zavions tired mind. They kept walking. The word block floated in after street. Ten blocks later they found a market. Or the remnants of one. LUNA MARKET, the green and purple sign read. The front window was smashed in. Rows of shelves were tipped over one on top of another like dominoes that had been lined up and knocked down. Papa tried to open the door, but it only moved a few inches. It was blocked by more fallen shelves.

"Over here, Zav," said Papa, leading him back to the broken window.

Papa stepped over the window frame and turned back to take Zavions hand. Zavion lifted one leg over the frame too, but he was so tired that he lost his balance and jabbed his other leg on the broken gla.s.s sticking out from the sill.

Pain shot through him. He moaned without thinking and was immediately ashamed.

"Sweet Jesus," whispered Papa. "Enough is enough, dont you think?" He looked toward the sky.

Yes, thought Zavion.

"Dont move," said Papa. "Im going to pull."

Zavion held his breath as Papa pulled his leg off the gla.s.s.

"Im sorry," said Zavion.

And he was. He was so sorry. He didnt think he could lose any more control, but it kept happening.

Papa examined the gash. "We need to cover that up," he said. "You dont need an infection on top of everything else." He tore a strip off his t-shirt and folded it against Zavions leg, then tore another one and tied it around the makeshift bandage. The gash ached in a steady, pulsing beat.

"Now can you walk?" asked Papa.

Zavion nodded. "Of course."

Papa and Zavion walked through the aisles of the store, stooping under tilted shelves and stepping over spilled food. It looked ransacked, by the hurricane and by humans. Wet boxes of cereal were disintegrated on the ground. Jars of tomato sauce were shattered. Ice cream oozed out of freezer units. The air smelled like sour milk and rotting fruit. Zavion tried to take shallow breaths.

Papa sat on the floor. He closed his eyes and put his head in his hands.

"Papa?" Zavion whispered. He pushed against the t-shirt, and blood seeped through its corner onto his fingers. He wiped his hand across his shirt.

"I dont know what to do." Papas voice was m.u.f.fled behind his thick hands. They were clean. No paint on them at all. The floodwater must have taken the paint away. Papas hands looked naked. In a funny way, Zavion felt embarra.s.sed by them.

Zavion didnt know what do to either. But he had to figure something out. That was his job. It always had been and he was good at it. He knew how to take care of himself and Papa. Ever since Mama died.

Until now.

Zavion felt heat creep from his neck to his face.

"Papa-" Zavion said it loudly this time. "Papa, I know what to do."

Papa dropped his hands from his face and stared blankly at Zavion- -who didnt know what to do, not at all.

But he had to.

He had to know- "Chocolate bars," Zavion said suddenly. "Chocolate bars. Theyre still safe to eat."

He made his way to the front of the store. Papa followed him. Two candy bar and gum shelves were empty, but one lay on top of the conveyer belt by a cash register. Zavion lifted it. Chocolate bars. He grabbed a handful.