Fractured: Tales of the Canadian Post-Apocalypse(64)

This is a fish, she says. Today we are going to make fish cut-outs. She is smiling at the class but Eli thinks she is sad. Her voice is soft.

She chooses a red piece of paper and makes her cut-out with one long swipe of the scissors. The excess paper curls to the floor. She helps the students make their fish, as many as they want, and they tape them up on the classroom windows. The grey light from outside bleeds through the colours, lighting them up.

After school, Richard is waiting for Eli. He holds his hand out for the boy and Eli takes it. They walk back together through the mist to the slumtop.

The rain turns hot that night. Steam rises off puddles on the streets below. Richard tells Eli to stay away from the window; it never closes all the way tight. Little drops bounce and fizz onto the sill, slip onto the floor of their room.

Eli tells Richard about the fish and the paper and how Miss Riley seemed sad all day.

So it’s called fish? Richard says. He likes to hear about school. They are sitting on the floor, across from each other over the chest. They are eating zip-packet beans and carrots. Richard got them at the factory for his lunch ration. He always brings food home for Eli. He tears away the airtight plastic and scoops the food into the pot so he can heat it up. They eat from tin mugs.

I liked Miss Riley when I was little, Richard says.

Eli uses his hand to swipe the last bit of beans from his mug. He licks his fingers.

In the morning it’s raining harder. Richard drops Eli off at school and heads to the factory. The rain beats down, fierce pellets against his hunched shoulders.

The compound is quiet, empty. Eli doesn’t see any other kids. They must be inside the class buildings already, out of the rain. Eli crosses the compound to his class. The door is locked. The lights are off. He can see the fish cut-outs still taped up to the windows. Miss Riley should be there at the front of the room.

Eli walks home, back up to the slumtop. He peels off his slip jacket and rain boots, leaving them to dry by the door. He sits at the window, waiting for Richard to come home, watching the little white houses below. He can see grown-ups packing up their cars, piling boxes and bags into the trunks and on top of the roofs. He wonders where they are going.

When Richard gets home it is dark outside. The clouds are thick over the town. He looks worried.

No kids at school, Richard says.

I came home, Eli says.

At night they wake up to the sound of the flood horn. They can hear the water coming. The surge roars in between the bellows of the horn. They sit up under the window and see the wave come, crushing over the ground houses. The water is like chocolate. Heavy, deep and brown.

The horn stops. It is quiet. Eli pushes himself against Richard’s side.

We’ll stay here, Richard says. He gets up from the window and checks the lock. He pushes the chest in front of the door.

They stay awake in the slumtop until the clouds turn grey with light again. Richard tells Eli to stay back, away from the window. They sit in the damp room, drinking hot water from mugs while Richard crouches, one hand on the windowsill, staring at the town.

Eli lies on the bed. He sleeps and dreams of the brown wave. He sees Violet, clawing through mud water. She smiles and chocolate milk runs down her nose, drips from the corner of her mouth.

Eli wakes up and he can hear people shouting outside. Loud pops and broken glass. Richard sits at the window.

It’s okay, he tells Eli.

They wait in the slumtop. One night, when Richard is asleep, Eli looks out the window. But all the lights in the houses are off and he can’t see if the water is still there.

Will the water stay below? Eli asks Richard in the morning.

No, no, Richard says. It’ll wash out.

Richard tries to be careful with the zip packets. He counts them, sets aside what they are allowed to have each day, but it’s not enough. Eli can see Richard is not eating. His hands shake as he passes mugs of food to the boy.

We gotta leave, Richard says.

Where’ll we go? Eli says.

High ground.

They put all of their things into the backpacks. Sweaters, socks and mugs. They put on their slip jackets and boots and Richard pushes the chest away from the door. He steps out into the hall, holds his arm in front of Eli.

If I say Go, Richard says, you gotta come right back here and lock this door. Be quiet and hide under the bed. Okay?

Okay, Eli says.

They move through the slumtop. Every door is open and the rooms are empty. The wind groans in the halls.

At the bottom they cross through the ground houses. All the windows are broken, the green pebbled lawns washed away. Pools of still blackwater have formed around the houses.

Where is everyone? Eli asks.

Hold my hand, Richard says.

Eli thinks of the flood horn, what happens if it bellows while they are on the ground.

They pass a house. There is a figure lying on its side in the entranceway. Eli stops to look, his hand pulling on Richard’s.

It’s a man. His upper body is inside the house, his legs are hanging out onto the front stoop. Black pants cling to his legs like dead skin slipping from bone. His feet are bare, the soles wrinkled and blue.

Don’t look, Richard says. He pulls on the boy’s hand. Keep walking.

They head up the north road. Eli can see trees, dark pine tops, rising past the edge of the last houses. This is the farthest he has ever been from the slumtop. Mud sucks at his boots with each step.

The road slopes upwards in a hill and they struggle to get their footing on the washed-out ground. Pine trees line the road, bent and broken, dripping damp. Eli and Richard step over branches stripped off the trees by wind and water.