Part 3 (1/2)

Im stealing, he thought.

”Lets go,” said Papa.

”Wait-”

We need to pay for these. But theres no one here.

”Now,” said Papa.

Zavions thoughts raced. His leg pulsed. His head spun.

Were stealing.

Were surviving.

Were stealing.

Papa walked back toward the broken window. Zavion reached into his pocket and pulled out the two s.h.i.+ngles from his roof. The only things he had left in the world. He put them on the checkout counter. A sort of IOU. A record that he had been there and had taken something. A promise that he would be back.

chapter 8.

HENRY.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Henry woke with a stiff neck and no memory of how he had ended up on the floor. He sat and turned his head from one side to the other. Mount Mansfield glowed in the moonlight and Henry locked eyes with its eyes. His gaze traveled to its forehead, nose, and chin. In his groggy state, the famous face in the mountain looked real.

”Wayne will kick your b.u.t.t,” he said.

Wayne would tackle the mountain to the ground, rip it from the earth, and fling it into s.p.a.ce.

But that wasnt going to happen.

Wayne was gone. And the mountain was here to stay.

Henry staggered to his feet. He slid his blue jeans off his tired body and chucked them onto the floor. He made his way to the bed and collapsed. Brae lumbered to his feet and lay down next to the bed. Henry reached his hand down and put it on Braes belly and felt his muscles vibrate with each breath. But Henrys own body felt still.

Like a corpse.

chapter 9.

ZAVION.

”Have you tried to go inside?” Papa asked a man standing outside the door to the convention center. He and Zavion couldnt find the man and woman and grandmama to give them some of the chocolate bars.

”No,” the man said.

”We shouldnt go in there,” said a woman standing next to him. She shook her head and Zavion saw them again. Fear footprints. All across her face.

”Someone saw a boy carrying a knife,” she said. She pointed to Zavion. ”A boy his age.”

”Someone saw a man with his throat slit open. His pockets turned inside out,” said the man. ”Its the end of the world in there.”

”I dont believe it,” said Papa. ”That firefighter told us to come here. We need to get inside. Its the middle of the night. We have to sleep.”

The convention center was overflowing with people. It was hard to walk forward even a few feet. Papa pushed his way farther into the lobby. ”Its less crowded just up there,” he said over his shoulder. Zavion walked behind him, the sweet taste of stolen chocolate stuck on his tongue. His leg pulsed with a dull ache. His head did too. He just wanted to lie down.

Papa stopped abruptly. He was silent for a moment.

”Sweet Jesus,” Zavion heard him whisper under his breath.

”Cover the kids eyes,” said someone in front of Papa.

But it was too late. A woman sat in a wheelchair, slumped forward. A dead woman. Zavion had only ever seen Mamas body, after she died, still and quiet and laid out flat. This body was different. It was puffy. Bent into a strange shape. Like a puppet from a Mardi Gras parade. Zavion hadnt ever seen a body like this, but he knew it was dead.

”No kid should see this,” someone else said.

But it didnt matter what he saw. He couldnt escape the smell. The smell of urine. Of sweat. Of death.

Papa turned around then. He pulled Zavion away from the convention center. Away from the boy with the knife. Away from the man with the slit throat. Away from the dead Mardi Gras body. He pulled Zavion away from the parking lot where the man on the pallet tossed and writhed and screamed out in his sleep, away from the man and the woman and the grandmama who hummed ”This Little Light of Mine.” A gunshot rang out. Papa pulled and pulled Zavion away from it all, but fear stretched its body long and taut. It followed them. Stepped on their heels.

They walked until they came to the Crescent City Connection Bridge. A soldier, maybe a National Guardsman, turned them around. Told them they couldnt cross the bridge unless they were in a car, and he pointed a gun at them when he said it. So they walked up and down side streets until they found an abandoned car. Papa got in the drivers side and opened the door across from him.

”Survival,” he said firmly. Just like he could read Zavions mind. ”Get in.”

Survival?

Or stealing?