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In the end we just took one each, because if it was going to take more than that we were probably screwed anyhow. We wrapped them in the towels and put them in separate duffel bags, each of us toting one of the bags.
There was a hearty moment of awkwardness as we stood there facing one another, stolen goods slung over a shoulder and no real plan. Also, well, I had kissed him, and it was kind of weird, but I sort of wanted to do it again. But I didn’t know if the feeling was mutual, and, besides: zombies. We had better things to do with our time than get busy in a ball park basement—but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it.
“All right. Back to the hotel?”
“Back to the hotel. ” It felt Freudian to say it, but I didn’t stop myself—so there the words hung, and we each waited for the other to take the lead.
He did.
I followed him out and we kept to the shadows, trying not to skulk and trying not to draw too much attention, either. For the most part, everyone was busy running around, talking into radios, reading maps, and toting an ungodly amount of munitions from place to place. If anyone noticed us, it was usually to tell us to get back up to the skybox.
We agreed to do so every time we were told, then immediately returned to our escape.
None of us were prisoners there, so it wasn’t very hard. It hadn’t occurred to anyone that anybody would be fool enough to dash back out into the undead-populated water outside the park, so all the gates were open and no one was watching them. We hopped the turnstile at the side entrance where the fewest people could see us.
As soon as we were free of the concrete and the parking lot, we were clear—or, rather, we were back in the water.
“It won’t go down, will it?” Nick did a prancy girl-step when his foot hit the mush of grass and dirt.
“Apparently not. ” I tried to be less prissy about it, but, God. I felt like I’d just gotten dry; I wasn’t in any huge rush to get dank again. “This is unreal. The river, I mean. How could this happen? I thought TVA was working on it. ”
“Hard to believe the government hasn’t got a handle on it, I know. Just ask New Orleans. I’m sure Uncle Sam is just about to come up with a solution. ”
We decided to head up, then over. It was a course of action that took us out of our way but kept us drier than simply cutting through downtown. And, since we weren’t yet sure how to handle the small horde of splashing undead, it was probably best to stay out of their known domain.
Between us we’d had fewer hours of sleep in the last few days than we usually got in one night, but our store of common sense hadn’t left us completely.
It was so strange, though—walking up by the interstate, on the gravel shoulder between all the parked cars. Most of them were abandoned, but here and there a few people had set up camp where they’d stalled or run out of gas. If you had a few candy bars in the glove box, you were just about as well off as the people down the hill in the shelters.
The whole thing was creepy. It felt like one of those post-apocalyptic movies you catch sometimes, where all the trappings of civilization are left in place but there are hardly any people.
From our vantage point up by the interstate, we could look down and see how the water was yes, still rising, and yes, still eating downtown a block at a time. And if we looked up to Cameron Hill, which overlooks the interstate from an even higher vantage point, we could see what had happened to more than a few of the car-abandoners.
Cameron Hill used to be a big apartment complex, but it was bought by Blue Cross and scheduled for demolition—making way for new office buildings, I imagine. For now, though, the complex stood vacant and high—really, at the highest point in the city that one could still call “downtown. ”
People had climbed the hill and were camping there, too. Even from down at the road level, we could see how windows had been broken out and the empty apartments had been entered. I didn’t know if they still had running water or anything, but it probably beat sleeping all cramped in the car. A big plume of smoke was coming up from the hill, but it looked like a contained sort of smoke, like a bonfire or something. Later I’d learn that the squatters had filled the empty swimming pool with construction debris and lit it like a beacon.
I guess, when it all comes down to it—or it’s all stripped away—we just wander back to that primal assurance. “If I have fire, I’m okay. ”
I thought again of the heavy shell I was toting around. The nylon bag seemed to be sloughing off water well enough to keep everything dry. I checked Nick’s bag in front of me, and it appeared to be likewise stable. But seeing it bounce back and forth against his thigh made me nervous.
“We should carry these more carefully, don’t you think?”
He stopped and turned around. “Sure. What do you recommend?”
“I don’t know. Just. Well. We’re banging these things around here and they’re full of gunpowder. Seems like a bad idea. ”
He gave me a look like he wanted to argue or fuss, but gave up on it before he started. Instead, he tightened the shoulder strap so the bag stayed in the crook of his waist, under his arm. I did likewise, and tried to hold it steady as we walked—but it wasn’t easy. The road was made for driving, and the shoulder wasn’t made for anything but motor emergencies. This was an emergency if I’d ever seen one, but when you’re on foot instead of wheels the shoulder is rough walking—a minefield of stripped tires, uneven paving, and broken glass.
Sometimes we’d look down below and see things walking in the water. At such a distance it was hard to tell what was what, or who. After a while, we quit looking and kept our eyes on the road in front of us.
When we reached the Martin Luther King Street exit, we used it to walk down from the main road; and the Read House was right there, on the left. It was still busy in a tired, worn out, desperate sort of way. From every window inside faces stared out at the street, waiting for a way out or waiting for the water to come to them.
I stared back at the eyes that settled on me, as if I knew what I was doing.
While we were gone, tow trucks and at least one bulldozer had come through moving the cars. It had to happen eventually; and now there was a lane and a half cleared from the front of the hotel to the onramp at the interstate—heading out of town, not towards the bridges. That way was pretty much clear, at least as far as I could see. The trick was still actually getting the ambulances and buses to the hotel, but it was happening. Slowly, but surely.
