Black Bird of the Gallows(69)

Slivers of wet shale slide out beneath my feet, and my knees crash on the rocks for the umpteenth time. I land on my belly, panting. Again. I don’t have the footwear for this, or the strength. My arms shake with fatigue. My stomach lets out an empty howl.

Then, for the second time, the sound of thunder cracks through the valley.

The crows go silent. The buzzing quiets to a dull hum. It’s as if they are waiting…

A terrible thundering unsettles the rock beneath me. It vibrates, shifts, with tremors as frightening as the crack of the landslide. The loose rock and soil beneath my fingers gives way. I slide down a few hard-won feet.

I wait, ribs heaving against the rocky surface. Nothing happens. My view of Cadence is limited from here. I can’t see anything, and for a second, my body sags with relief. It’s beautiful and brief, wiped away by a sound both unfamiliar and terrifying. It is a roar, quiet and relentless. It’s the sound of water.

I look to the bend in the highway, and a cry rips from my throat. A frothing tumble of water unrolls down the four lanes like a dark, filthy ribbon. The road is a deep groove cut into the landscape, making it act as a perfect funnel. Debris I can’t identify tumbles with it, and the water is deepening, thickening with each passing second. Reece was right—the water ran for the highway—but I don’t know what else it’s hitting. Whether it’s moving through the valley or found a path over and through the rubble. Either way, Lake Serenity is free of her restraints, and she’s moving fast.

I dig in my hands and feet and scrabble upward with desperation. My feet find a slippery patch of loose rock, and I slide down more. The water is not deep, but it surges up the base of the slope and tugs at my feet. I can’t climb up the muddy mess I’m clinging to. It’s like climbing up mashed potatoes. I am no match for the water’s power. Ice cold fingers pull my legs, yanking me with terrifying force.

The swift current jerks me into its turbulent rush. In an instant, the mountain is gone. Gravity is gone. Sky and earth, shaken senseless. I’m capable of swimming, but not in this. I am nothing. A small, breakable toy being tossed around by nature’s force.

I won’t survive this. I grab one last lungful of air before being sucked under again, bumping and scraping against rocks and earth and things once owned by people. This is how I’m going to die. It’s a neutral thought. I can’t even summon emotion. It’s just simple fact.

Something big and solid slams against my back. Pain shoots up my spine, around my ribs. I gasp in a lungful of water and reach back for the rough, layered thing against my spine. Shingles. A house? With the last of my strength, I haul myself onto the object behind me. It is a roof—part of one, anyway. It’s buoyant enough to stay steady in the rushing current. I drag myself as high as I can and collapse against the peak, gasping, coughing up filthy water from aching lungs. The pain in my ribs makes me retch. Or maybe it’s all the river I choked in. Hard to tell. Harder to care.

How long did that whole thing take? Five seconds? Fifty? It felt like an eternity. I open my eyes and see a woman, facedown, being pushed along by the current. I shut my eyes and don’t open them again. That could have been me. It should have been me. At this moment, Reece should be very thankful of his ability to turn into a bird. I’d rather be a bird right now.

The ride slows. Lake Serenity is large, but it isn’t an ocean. As the water spreads out, the urgent push of it eases. The roof grinds to a halt, and now, for some reason, I feel like crying. And I would, if I had anything left. But I do have to open my eyes. Face whatever post-apocalyptic hellscape is waiting for me on the other side of my lids.

So I look, half expecting to see fires, destruction, a sea of corpses. But no. The air isn’t thick with grit here, but clear. The body I saw before is nowhere to be found. In fact, there are no bodies anywhere in sight. I push myself to sit and blink in confusion. Am I having a delusion? There’s no piles of rubble or ruined buildings. I’m not on the highway anymore. At some point, the water changed course, eased around Mount Franklin, following gravity’s pull, spreading out and dispersing. Aside from the six-or-so inches of gently moving muddy water, this cross street is intact—houses, trees, everything is as it was before the landslide. I know this because I know precisely where I am. My roof has run aground in the parking lot of Reilly’s Gas and Variety on Route 12. My heart stutters off beat. I’m close to home. I shouldn’t be surprised. Cadence is a small town. I’m not too far from the entrance to Mount Franklin Estates.

Walking a few miles uphill is unthinkable, but oh…home. I wondered if I’d see it again. I climb off the roof and stagger to my feet. My body is unevenly heavy, as if different weights are tied to my limbs. I try to take stock, figure out what might be broken. Pretty much everything hurts, but not so terribly that I’m debilitated. I’m standing, after all.

I eye the front door of Reilly’s and begin to slosh toward it. There’s food in there. Water. My throat feels coated in sand. I’m dragging my left foot a little, reducing my progress to a plodding shuffle. A hysterical laugh shudders out of my belly, unbidden.

I climb the step and push open the convenience store’s door, admitting a thin spread of water. A sour smell hits my nose, making my spirits drop. Someone’s been through here. A glance to the right shows empty refrigerator cases with doors hanging open. A smashed gallon of milk spreads sticky and white over the floor. So much for water. That was surely what was looted first. My thoughts focus on the aisles. Food. Something must still be left.