The Light Pirate(52)
“One more?” she pleads.
“One more,” he says, until he truly doesn’t have any more change. They leave empty-handed, but Wanda doesn’t mind. Outside, they run for the truck, the rain pelting them with its warm, sharp drops, and on the way home they discuss special effects.
“So they didn’t really die, right?”
“Right, no one died. It’s just tricks and makeup.”
“Hm.” The rain sluices across the windshield, so thick he can barely see. He lifts his foot off the gas and squints to make out the lines on the road. “I liked it,” she announces finally. “I thought it was a good movie. I’m glad we went. I really liked the game at the end, also, with the claw. Do you think Blackbeard is missing me?”
“For sure she is.”
“And she’ll come with us to California, won’t she?”
“Of course she will.”
The rain has become so torrential that Kirby slows the truck to a crawl. There’s no one else on the road, no hot glow of taillights to follow. If he weren’t so familiar with these curves he might pull over, put his hazards on, and wait for the rain to slow. But he knows this stretch by heart, so he keeps going, slow and deliberate. During the rainy season, the road floods quickly here where it’s low, but Kirby isn’t worried; his truck is high and they’re not so far from home.
He forges on until something stops him—there’s a thump and then a groan and when he gently lays on the gas, the truck’s wheels spin and go nowhere. He gives it some more. Still nothing. Reverse gets him nowhere, either.
“Well, that’s no good.” He looks over at Wanda, who isn’t scared. “I guess we’re all caught up.”
“On what?” she asks.
“Oh, who knows. I’m sure this rain’s been knocking all kinds of things down. It’s all right, I’ve got the chain saw in the back. I’m going to go see if I can drag it out first. Hand me the headlamp in the glove box.”
He clicks on the light and gets out, crouching down to see what’s gotten caught in the truck’s undercarriage: just a sturdy branch. He shuts the door to keep the cab dry and goes around to the front to get a better look, shining his headlamp on it. If he can get Wanda to reverse while he pushes, that’ll probably do it. No need for the chain saw.
As he calculates this, some miles away, Lake Okeechobee breaks free of its banks. It’s been brimming all day. All week, actually. The water pushes past the earthen dam, still weakened from Braylen. The rain has been too much this year, but it seemed like such a small problem compared to everything else. What is a very rainy season next to a Cat 5 hurricane? Next to the end of Miami? It isn’t the problem of a single storm—it is the pattern set by many. The people that used to watch the dam, that tended to it, have all been laid off. They kept the dam strong since 1928, but now, there’s no one left to open the gates when the water is too high. No one to reinforce the walls when they begin to weaken. Everyone worried that this would happen one day. No one knew it would be today.
A few inches of floodwater sloshes around Kirby’s ankles. He doesn’t realize there is about to be so much more. He stands up, clicking his headlamp off and thinking about how delighted Wanda will be to step on the gas while he pushes, to sit in the driver’s seat and hold the steering wheel. A fine ending to this very good adventure they’ve shared. She’ll have to stretch those short legs of hers to reach the pedal, but he knows she’ll manage somehow because she is resourceful. She is capable. This, his last thought, makes his heart ache and swell at the same time.
When the wave sweeps him off his feet he is still imagining her working the pedals, still feeling a tender admiration for his daughter. He has only a few seconds to panic before he is underwater and his temple connects with something hard, maybe a piece of debris, maybe the ground itself. He doesn’t have time to understand what has happened, or what it means, or who it will affect. There is only a cold burst of adrenaline and then there is nothing. Just a deep, dark current: a soft blackness that delivers him back to wherever it is he began.
The waves slam against the doors and sweep over the hood, the windshield, the windows, swallowing the truck whole. Wanda calls out, but there is no answer except for the murmur she used to think was trying to help her. She can see its familiar glow in the floodwater, shimmering outside the window. The lights whisper to her, loud and urgent, but the only voice she wants right now is her father’s.
It’s a sound she’ll never stop wanting. The flood moves on, holding what remains of Kirby tight and rushing away to claim new territory. The murmurs fade and the lights dissipate—for now. The water recedes, a new tide rushing out toward the coast—for now. There is no more room in the seabed, no more room in the limestone, no more room in the soil. The water bodies expand upward, outward, inward, and the rain keeps beating down. This is the way things will be from now on. The levels will rise and fall and rise, but the water will never leave this place again.
Light
The light flows in every direction. It is composed of many minds, many eyes. It is one creature, and it is many. An awareness that grows and deepens. An intelligence that is made to join and join and join. This is how life began; this is how it goes on living.