Another Kind Of Hurricane Part 20

He heard someones voice, but he didnt look back.

"Hey-" the voice said. "Are you okay?"

Another rumble. This time it was louder. Zavions ears began to ring.

"Mama-" he said.

A long, deep cracking sound. Like something being split open. Zavion could barely hear now. There was a flash of lightning. A boys face-the boy with the bird-shone for a second and Zavion could see his mouth move, but he couldnt hear what he was saying. Zavion felt a hand on his shoulder.

Another cracking sound. Again, something being split open. Was it him? Was he being split open wide? Zavion scrambled up a pile of something by the side of the market. Pieces of a wall. He climbed as high as he could. A musty, windy water smell filled his nose. A levee was crumbling. The wind and the water flooded over him. There was a squealing in his ears. The violin sound. It was back. Mama- He climbed Grandmother Mountain higher. Zavion put his hands over his ears. He lost his balance. He was falling- -falling from his attic window, falling onto the door, falling off the door into the rus.h.i.+ng, rising water- "Hey-" A voice cut through the squealing.

Hands grabbed him. Another crack of thunder. In the lightning flash, Zavion saw his own hands gripping the back of someones s.h.i.+rt. The windy water smell filled Zavions nose again, and the flooding sensation rose inside his body.

"Hey-" The voice again. "Stay with me here, okay?"

Who was talking to him?

"This isnt a hurricane," the voice said. "You are safe." The person pressed his hand into Zavions shoulder. "You are safe," he repeated.

"Whats happening to him?" Zavion heard another voice ask.

"h.e.l.lo," said a third voice. "You are safe. You are safe. You are safe." Another crack of thunder. The long, high squeal of the violin. Too close, too close. A bird screeched. And then the levee crumbled to the ground.

"No, I am not! I am not safe!" Zavion tried to stand up, but a hand kept him still.

"You are," the voice said.

"NO! NO ONE IS SAFE! WHERE IS PAPA? WHERE IS MAMA? WHERE IS SHE?"

"Come back here-"

"DONT YOU SMELL IT?"

"Youre okay, son-"

"THE WIND! THE WATER!" He couldnt stop yelling. "WHAT IF I FALL?" Words poured out of him.

"No!" The voice was yelling now too. The person gripped Zavions arms. "No, you wont fall!" The person turned his head. "Hold on to his other shoulder," he said. The other person knelt down next to Zavion. "Put pressure on him. Let him know youre here."

"WHAT IF I CANT BREATHE?"

"You wont stop breathing," said the first voice.

"WHAT IF I DIE?"

"You wont die," said the voice again.

"Jeezum Crow. Hes as stiff as a board," came a different, quiet voice next to Zavion.

And like Luna in the market- -like Mama- the voice said, "Youre okay. Youre okay."

chapter 44.

HENRY.

Stiff as a board.

Just the way Henry had felt that day he biked up and down, up and down, up and down the driveway.

Stiff as a board and frozen.

Frozen with fear.

chapter 45.

ZAVION.

Another round of thunder and lightning, quieter than before. In the flash of light, Zavion saw tears in the eyes of the person sitting next to him. A man. The man from the market.

"You are safe," he said quietly. He looked Zavion straight in the eyes.

"No, Im not," Zavion said quietly too. "Not here."

chapter 46.

HENRY.

The boys breathing was heavy. He was panting. Like he was Brae. Henry let go of his shoulder and sank back onto the ground.

Not here.

Not here.

Not here.

How many places could be unsafe? For Henry it was the mountain. For this kid it was here. New Orleans. Louisiana.

Henry thought something then.

What if the place came with you?

What if no matter where you went, it followed you?

What if the mountain had followed him?

Or worse, what if it was inside him?

chapter 47.

ZAVION.

"The storm is over," said the man.

The storm was traveling away from the street-that was true. The violin squeal was slowly fading.

But the memory was getting brighter.

The storm had brought it cras.h.i.+ng in.

Luna had opened the window in his brain and the memory had flooded back to him.

He remembered.

- Mamas hands on his face.

Mamas voice.

Mamas hug.

- A blue ceramic mug.

Mamas mug. Her favorite mug. The one she brought from North Carolina. It had a tan and brown bird on it, built up with clay, so it stuck out from the rest of the mug. It was positioned at the top, at an angle. Its wings were fully opened.

Zavion remembered tracing the outline of the bird when Mama set it down in the morning to have her cup of coffee. He remembered wondering, each time, if the next time the bird would be gone. If it would ever finally fly away.

Zavion remembered that blue mug, and a sad blue thing crept through the open window in his brain.

It crouched in a corner there.

Then it stretched its body out flat.

- Zavion was four.

He had been outside, pulling mint out of the tiny garden Mama kept behind their house. Her family had kept enormous gardens at their house in North Carolina, at the base of Grandmother Mountain, and Mama had carried a garbage bag filled with dirt when she moved. A little bit of North Carolina in New Orleans. Just enough dirt for a tiny garden.

She grew tomatoes, cuc.u.mbers, peas, and mint.

Lots of mint.

That morning she had sent Zavion out to pick some for a big pitcher of iced tea she was making.

Mint, ginger, and tea.

Her specialty.

"My special tea," she would say. And then she would laugh.

That low, rumbly laugh like a cat purring.

Zavion picked two big handfuls of mint and was running back into the kitchen. He was so excited he had forgotten to take off his garden boots-tall, yellow rubber boots-just inside the front door, which was a rule of Mamas. She liked a clean floor, liked to walk in the house barefoot, and didnt want to step in dirt or mud or worse.