Page 14 of Hurricane Irene

“Make?”

“Submerged.”

“That model never held its value.” The boat shifted another inch, as if whatever lay below had exhaled.

The current rotated the stern toward a tangle of fencing. Jean threw a line around a cypress knee; Bogey hauled until his shoulders trembled. Irish reversed in short bursts while Bone levered the hull sideways. Metal shrieked beneath them. For one long second the engine died and every man listened to water slap the boat’s skin. Then it caught again. They slid free minus a strip of paint and most of Hoot’s confidence.

“Put it on the damage report,” Irish said.

“Under what heading?” HG asked.

“Bayou attempted theft.”

Farther out, Team 7 lost the last cell signal and then the last recognizable landmark. Nine checked the compass. He smirked at the others and laughed.

“Like old times. Good old-fashioned paper maps, a compass, nothing electronic that can break.”

“I heard that,” said Ace. “Careful what you say. We almost have everything up and running again.”

“Maybe hold off for twenty-four hours, brother. I’m enjoying my boy scout days right now.”

Gaspar studied the water. Ghost sat silent beside the fuel cans, watching floating grass bend around whatever lay beneath. Ian and Baptiste argued in low voices over whether a distant line of poles belonged to the old shrimp road. Luc finally spoke.

“They belong to a fence.”

The fence ran through eight feet of water. Beyond it, the marsh had opened into a wide slate plain. The sun appeared for less than a minute, a pale coin behind cloud, and vanished without improving anything.

At 1100 hours, all seven teams checked in by relay. Team 1 had cleared three empty houses and found a family sheltering in a church loft.

Team 2 had marked two washed-out bridges and delivered insulin to a man who refused to leave his cattle.

Team 3 had located the source of the knocking: a sheet of roofing striking a half-submerged propane tank.

Team 4 had four humans, two dogs, and one profane bird in transit.

Team 5 had two evacuees, one injured.

Team 6 was behind schedule but intact.

Team 7 had reached the outer camps and found them abandoned. Luke listened to the reports, counted the unchecked names, and watched a new bank of cloud deepen in the southwest.

The church had floated six inches off its foundation and settled crooked against two oaks. Luke’s boat nosed through what had been the front doors. Hymnals drifted among dead leaves. A white choir robe hung from a ceiling fan and turned whenever the wind found it.

In the loft, a mother, her brother, and three children had spent two nights with rainwater in cooking pots and crackers from the nursery. The youngest child stared at Hex’s beard and asked if he was a pirate.

“Search and rescue,” Hex said with a smile. “Pirates have dental coverage.”

From below came a heavy knock against the hull. Everyone froze until a pew surfaced, rolled, and sank again. Eric found the church bell rope trailing from the rafters and rang it once. The note rolled over the flooded woods, enormous and lonely, and something far off answered with another knock.

The children came down one at a time in life jackets. Ben carried the smallest, whose bare feet were white with cold. Cam checked them while Luke tied the church’s communion rail to a tree so the building would not pivot farther into the channel. The mother kept apologizing for the trouble.

“This is literally why we brought a boat,” Eric told her.

She laughed once, a cracked sound that became a sob, and turned her face away. Nobody mentioned it. They loaded the family’s names into the radio relay and started toward high ground.

1200 hours brought heat without brightness. Steam rose from wet roofs. Mosquitoes swarmed the boats whenever they slowed. Fuel gauges sank.

The men ate crushed protein bars and drank warm water while motoring. Every surface was slick. Every object in the bayou had become either a landmark that lied or an obstacle that waited.