After the Flood

When Pearl was a baby I carried her in a sling almost every moment, even when we slept. But when she was a toddler I had a harder time keeping a handle on her. During storms, I’d tie her to me with a rope to make sure she didn’t get swept away. I trained her to stay near me at ports and taught her to swim.

Pearl had to do everything early: swimming, drinking goat’s milk, potty training, helping me work the fishing lines. She learned to swim at eighteen months but didn’t learn to walk properly until she was three. Instead of walking, she scuttled about Bird like a crab. Her childhood was the kind I’d read about in frontier stories, the children who knew how to milk a cow at six or how to shoot a rifle at nine.

At first this made me pity her in a different way than I’d pitied Row. But then I realized that being born later, after we were already on water, could be a gift. As a young child she could swim better than I ever would, with an instinctive knowledge of the waves.

So having Daniel on board made me feel like I could breathe again. I noticed he kept an eye on her the way I would, keeping her in his peripheral vision, one ear attuned to her movements. Daniel, Pearl, and I kept sailing south. At night, we’d all sleep under the deck cover, the wind whistling above us, the waves rocking the boat like a cradle. I slept on my side with Pearl tucked against my chest, and Daniel lay on the other side of me. One night, he rested his hand tentatively on my waist, and when I didn’t move he reached his arm around the two of us, his arm heavy and comforting, grounding us.

Sometimes, on nights that peaceful, I’d imagine us three going on like that, forgetting about the Valley, making a quiet, simple life on the sea. I began to look forward to the moments when Daniel was close to me, both of us standing near the tiller or huddling under the deck cover during a rainstorm. We could be silently working on mending a rope, our heads bent above the fraying fibers, our hands swiftly weaving, and I’d feel a serenity at his body being near mine.

But I’d remember Row, tugging her blankie behind her on our wood floor, her head cocked to one side, her expression a mix of curiosity and mischief. Or how she’d push the coffee table against the window and sit on it with her perfectly straight posture, watching the birds. Naming them by their colors: red birdie, black birdie. I’d feel her as though she were beside me. A warm tide rose and flooded my veins, pulling me toward the Valley as if I had no choice at all.

I PICKED SARDINES and squid from one of the nets I’d fished with that morning and dumped them in our live bait jar, a large ceramic canister that once was used to hold flour in a kitchen. We kept the jar tied down next to the cistern and only filled it with live bait when we could spare the meat.

I kept scanning the horizon as we approached the mountaintops of Central America. When we were about fifteen miles from the closest coast we signaled to a merchant ship by waving our flag, a blue square of fabric with a fish in the middle. The ship’s own flag billowed in the wind, purple with a brown spiral that looked like a snail shell.

People had communicated by flags before Grandfather and I took to the water. Sailors said that the Lily Black had been the first to raise a flag, using it to identify the different ships within their tribe, and later, to invite another ship to surrender before an attack.

So Grandfather and I made a fisherman’s flag by cutting a fish out of a white T-shirt and sewing it onto a blue pillowcase. As soon as Pearl was a toddler I taught her the three different kinds of flags, because I needed her to be my second set of eyes on the sea, to alert me to who could be approaching us if I was busy fishing. So she learned how some flags were a plain color: white to communicate distress, black to indicate disease, orange to refuse a request. Others told what kind of ship you were: a merchant ship, fishing boat, or breeding ship. And the last kind were the tribal flags, flags with symbols on them to show the identity of a new community, like a family crest.

Though the Lily Black were the first to set up this communication, they were also the first to subvert it. Now it was rumored that the Lily Black liked to sail under false flags to get closer to an enemy and to raise their own flag right before an attack.

So as we approached the merchant ship, I kept my eyes on their flag, my hands on the gunwale, fearing they’d take it down and replace it with a raider tribal flag.

“I think you can relax,” Daniel said. “You can’t stay in a permanent state of hypervigilance.”

“I’ve always avoided this part of the Pacific because I’ve heard raiders have a stronghold here.”

“I thought you avoided this area because you can’t navigate?” Daniel grinned at me and brushed my arm with the back of his hand.

I suppressed a grin and glanced at him, the wind tossing my hair in my face. “After the trade, we should troll and head a bit farther east for sailfish.”

Daniel looked out at sea. “How can you tell?”

I pointed to frigate birds flying low and diving into the water a few miles east. Grandfather had taught me to watch the birds. “I also saw schools of tuna and mackerel. The water is warm here. Sailfish can get you eighty pounds of meat. It’s worth going off course.”

“Okay. We’ve just got to be careful, sailing so close to the coast without aiming to dock.”

I knew he was concerned about the mountains just under the surface of the water and the boat running aground, shredding the hull. Sometimes you could see shadows darkening the water where the mountains rose up to meet the sky, and when you sailed over them, you could look down and see the rocky peaks like ancient faces floating in the deep, looking back up at you. The ocean churned above them, its currents eddying among the rocks, coral springing up anew, new sea creatures adapting and forming in the dark.

I wouldn’t be here for whatever new things would grow out of this new world; I’d be ash before they sprouted fully formed. But I wondered about them, wondering what Pearl would live to see and hoping they’d be good things.

We pulled alongside the merchant ship and traded our fish for a few yards of cotton, thread, charcoal, and goat’s milk. When I asked them about wood, they told us we needed to go even farther south to get good prices. A knot twisted in my stomach. We couldn’t lose even more time by sailing farther off course.

When we parted ways with the merchant ship, it sailed northeast toward a small port on the coast and Daniel adjusted our tiller so we’d turn southeast, toward where I thought there might be sailfish. Pearl played with a snake on deck as I repaired crab pots, weaving wire between the broken slats of metal. There was always something to be fixed. The rudder, the sail, the hull, the deck, the tackle and bait. Everything always breaking and me barely able to keep up, time slipping through my fingers all the while.

We sailed toward the diving birds. Pearl and I trolled with brightly colored lures made of ribbons and hooks. The water ran clear and the wind breathed easy, one of those lovely sailing days that made me feel like I was flying. I caught sight of a sailfish near the surface, its sail cutting the water like a shark’s fin, and I dropped a line with live squid on the hook.

I let the line drift, occasionally moving it, watching the water and waiting, careful to bait the sailfish and not follow it. It took two hours before the sailfish bit and jerked me against the gunwale. My knuckles whitened as it almost tugged me into the sea.

Daniel leapt forward to steady me. “You okay?” he asked as he helped me screw the pole into the rod holder on the gunwale.

I nodded. “We can’t lose this one.”

It swam with astonishing speed, its sail cutting the surface of the water, and our boat lurched toward it when it reached the end of the line. It gave a powerful run, swimming in a semicircle at the end of the line, then fighting the line, diving into the air, sending a spray of water around it.

No coast lay in sight; the world was so flat and blue, your eyes could get tired of it. It was disorienting—this much space. Like a person needed something to dwarf them. Even the clouds were as thin as gauze.

A shark circled our boat, swimming closer and then farther away. At first I thought the shark was tracking the movements of a school of mackerel under us, but then I realized it was hunting our sailfish.

“We should try to reel it in quick,” I told Daniel.

“I thought you said it’s better to let them wear out before you reel them in? How are we going to handle this thing?”

I put on my leather gloves. “You and Pearl reel him in. I’ll catch him by the sword. Once I’ve got him, you help me lift him out of the water by grabbing his sail and under his torso.”

The pole that held the sailfish had been a titanium fence post before Grandfather fashioned it into a fishing pole. It didn’t bend or break against the sailfish’s weight, but the rod holder on the gunwale creaked and screeched, threatening to rip lose.

Daniel cranked the reel, straining with each pull, sweat gathering at his temples. The sailfish kept fighting, lunging into the air and whipping its body around. Water sprayed our faces. Its body slammed against the boat as it fought. I blinked away the salt caught in my eyes and lost sight of the shark.

When the sailfish was close enough to grab, I leaned over the gunwale and reached for it. It jerked on the line, its head pulled from the water, the hook glistening in its mouth.

I grabbed its sword and it almost slipped out of my hands, slick as an icicle. The sulfuric scent of coral and seaweed drifted around us. We must be close to mountaintops, I thought fleetingly.

Daniel locked the reel in place and leaned over the gunwale to grab the sail. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the shark reappear. It bumped the hull and we rocked slightly.

Dread gathered like bile at the base of my throat. The shark dove deeper into the water, its shape cloudy and then invisible in the depths. The sailfish’s eyes darted to and fro. Its gills fluttered and its scales tremored, spinning sunlight in a kaleidoscope. Even it seemed to have a fresh wave of fear roll over it.

It opened its eyes wide and ripped its sword from my hands in a violent lurch and dropped back into the water with a splash.

“Dammit,” Daniel muttered, reaching into the water to grab the sail.

“Daniel, don’t!” I said.

The shark pierced the water, mouth open, catching Daniel’s forearm in its teeth and shaking its head in a violent toss before dropping back into the water. Daniel screamed, falling forward toward the water.

CHAPTER 12

I CAUGHT THE back of Daniel’s shirt, braced against the gunwale, and yanked him hard. We both stumbled backward and fell to the deck. Blood streamed from his arm, running along the cracks between the wood.

“Pearl! Grab the fabric!” I shouted.

I couldn’t see the wound past the blood. Skin and tendons hung from his arm. Had he severed an artery? Was the bone crushed?

Pearl ran to the deck cover and returned with the fabric I’d gotten in Harjo. I pressed it against his arm.

“It’s going to be okay,” I told him, my own blood pulsing in my ears. “We just need to stop the bleeding.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. His face was pale and his breath came in quick shallow bursts.

“Pearl, hold this here and apply pressure,” I said. She held the fabric against the wound as I took off my belt and hooked it around his upper arm, above his elbow. I cut a new hole in the leather with my knife, tightened the belt, and fastened it in place.

I leaned back on my heels to get a better look at him and laid my hand on his shoulder. “Breathe,” I said. “Try to stay calm.”

The sound of wood on rock filled the air, a rumble growing into a dull roar. The boat rocked abruptly, knocking me to my side.

Daniel’s eyes flew open. “Mountain. Mountain!” he said frantically.

I leapt up, ran to the stern, and looked over the gunwale. The tops of mountains glimmered just below the surface, pocked with crevices and peaks, small blooms of coral sprouting in the shadows. We were running aground on mountaintops.

I turned the tiller, yanking the rudder as far to the right as it would go, and felt the boat start to shift. A strong wind caught the sail and we surged forward. Beyond the bow, several peaks protruded a few feet above the water. We needed to turn farther to the right, and faster.

“The sail!” I called to Pearl, but she was already at the block, working the rope through. I joined her, pulling the rope, fumbling to release a knot.

Pearl’s hands shook and tears streamed down her face. “We’re going to be in the water,” she cried.

“We’re going to be okay,” I told her.

I dropped the knot, pulled my knife from its sheath, and cut the rope, releasing the sail so it let out, bearing us away from the wind.

But it was too late. The rocky tip of a mountain stood a foot above the water’s surface and was only twenty feet in front of us. I grabbed Pearl and pulled her close.

Bird tilted to the left as we ran over the mountain, water sloshing over the deck and Daniel rolling toward the gunwale. Pearl and I tumbled against the mast and clung to it. The boat slid over the mountain, the sound of cracking wood thundering around us.

The hull hit the water again with a thud and Bird almost leveled. I ran to Daniel, pulling him up beneath his armpits and propping him against the gunwale. He clutched his arm against his chest and gritted his teeth. Bird started to lean to the right. We were taking on water. I stood up and scanned the horizon, hoping to see land, but found none.

“Pearl, grab the bucket and a torch,” I said.

I opened the latch door in the deck and peered into the cavity between the hull and deck. Interlaced boards blocked my view, but I could hear the rush of water. Pearl handed me the torch, a branch with a piece of fabric wrapped around one end and a plastic bag over it to keep it dry. I ripped the plastic bag off the end and Pearl struck her flint stone against it.

I jumped through the hole, my feet hitting water when I landed. The flame only illuminated a foot around me, casting deep shadows between the interlaced boards. To the right I saw the hole, near the bottom right of the hull. The water inside was already two feet high. We could sink in an hour or less.

I pulled myself out of the hole and grabbed a bucket from Pearl. She’d already tied a string to the handle, and I dropped it into the hole and pulled it up, water dripping and sloshing over the rim.

“Pearl, while I haul water, you pack food and Daniel’s instruments into our bags. And bottle some of the water from the cistern.”

“It won’t all fit.”

“Don’t take the flour then.”

“Okay,” Pearl said. She turned and disappeared beneath the deck cover, dragging out bags and tossing them on the deck in front of her.

I dropped the bucket again and again, my arms and back beginning to ache.

“Shit,” I muttered. I wasn’t buying us any time. I tossed the water over the side of the boat, and it caught the light in a bright curve, sparkling like crystal. I squeezed my eyes shut and reopened them. Bird, I thought, thinking of Grandfather’s hands as he made her, his callused palms running over the wood.

I WATCHED BIRD sink as I clung to Daniel’s raft. Daniel and Pearl sat on top of the raft, clutching the sides so they wouldn’t be knocked off with each wave. There was only room for two without it sinking; I put Pearl on so she’d be safe and Daniel on so he’d stop pissing me off by bleeding into the water. We each wore a backpack stuffed with supplies.

Bird pitched to the side and seemed to hold steady as the water filled her. I felt that the water was filling me, its weight inescapable. But then a gurgling sound came from Bird, water pulling her down, and she disappeared from sight like a coin dropped in a wishing well. I sucked in air. Bird was the last thing tying me to my mother and grandfather, and without her I felt suspended, cut loose from them. I stifled a sob and clutched the raft more tightly.

I held my knife in my other hand, scanning the water for the shark.

“It will wait till we tire,” Daniel said, watching me, concern softening his voice.

I glared at him. You’ll tire first, I thought, half tempted to pull him into the water if I saw the shark again. “I told you not to reach for the sailfish,” I snapped.

“I told you we should’ve stayed on course and gone straight to port,” he snapped back. “Navigating this close to the coastline is impossible.”

A small strangled sound came from Pearl, a sob caught in her throat. She hadn’t stopped shaking since the first collision.

I reached my hand up to grasp her white knuckles. “Pearl, sweetie. We’re going to be okay.”

“I don’t want you in the water. The shark,” she cried.

“I’ve got my knife,” I said, holding the blade up so it glinted in the sun. I forced a smile and squeezed her hand. “We’ll be fine.”

Pearl’s tears fell on my hand over hers. A wave splashed in my face and I swallowed salt water and felt rage unfurl inside me. I cursed myself. I never should have let him on board.

All my tackle and bait, most of the food stores, the fresh water in the cistern. All sunk, drifting to the seafloor. Even if we made it to land, I’d have nothing to trade for food or new fishing supplies.

“Myra, I see something,” Daniel said.

“Shut up.”

“Myra—”

“I said shut up,” I said, clutching my knife tighter.

“It’s a ship,” he said, reaching into a bag for the binoculars.

“Give them to me.”

I peered through the binoculars, scanning the horizon until I landed on a ship. It was larger than a fishing boat, about the size of a merchant vessel. I squinted through the binoculars, searching for a flag.

“I don’t know who they are,” I said. Strangely, they seemed to be sailing straight toward us, though I was doubtful they could see us yet. They seemed almost three miles from us, and we were such a small speck in the vast sea. I doubted they could see us unless they were searching for us.

I gnawed on my lip, already dry from salt and sun. I gazed toward the ship, only able to see a small shadow on the horizon without the binoculars. The ship could save us or condemn us to a worse fate than taking our chances on the open sea.

“You should wave them down,” Daniel said, reaching into the backpack for our white flag.

“We don’t know who they are,” I repeated. “I’d rather face my chances on the open sea than chained in the hull of a raider ship.”

“It’s worth the risk,” Daniel said.

I glared at him. Worth the risk for him, I thought. He wouldn’t survive on the open sea long, but Pearl and I might. At least for a few days, and if the currents were right, maybe we’d make it to the coast.

He seemed to read my thoughts. “You two won’t make it long. We’re still several miles from the coast. This isn’t well-traveled territory; someone else won’t come along.”

I glanced back at the ship. I remembered talking with my mother up in the attic, sitting on the top step, as Grandfather had fitted Bird’s joints. We talked about the latest reports we’d heard, how far the water had come, what buildings in town to avoid. Jacob was gone, meeting up with some of his new friends I didn’t know. Row carried a pail of water past us and set it next to the others, clustered around the perimeter of the attic. The city water had been shut off the week before and we were collecting rainwater in all our buckets and bowls. Row knelt in front of the bucket and leaned forward, grinning into her reflection.

“Hi,” she said to herself and giggled.

Grandfather had smiled at her and patted the side of Bird. “She’ll be a good boat to start out in,” he’d said.

I was surprised when he said this—I never imagined we’d leave Bird, not after it’d taken so much work to build. I was so young, I wasn’t accustomed to loss and impermanence the way Grandfather was. I hadn’t known how to expect it or accept it.

My heartbeat quickened and I tried to breathe deeply. No choice but to move forward, I told myself.

“Hand me the fishing wire,” I said. I pulled my torso up on the raft and treaded water. I pierced the fishing wire through the fabric, tying it around the oar to make a flag.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.