Emergency sirens sounded over the air. A helicopter throbbed overhead.
The dam that controlled the Wolf River, which ran between Memphis and Mud Island, had broken, and the Mississippi had backed up into the Wolf River channel. The massive stone bulwarks that kept Mud Island secure from the high river were shattered, and Mud Island Park had been swept by river water from one end to the other. The monorail and bridges leading to the island were twisted wrecks; the World War II bomber Memphis Belle lay crushed under its shattered white dome; water drifted through the lower levels of the River Center. Debris had collected along every bit of wreckage, forming jagged driftwood islands. The river foamed along a hedge of wooden fangs.
“We can’t land in that,” Nick said as he inspected the shore with the Astroscan. “We’d get stuck in the wreckage.”
Jason looked at the ominous, shattered span of the DeSoto and suppressed a shiver. “That means going under the bridge.”
“We’d better pick the safest part of the channel, then.”
Which, they determined with the scope, seemed about a third of the way across the river from the east bank. The overhead roadway looked intact at that point, with no dangling slabs or girders. The river was moving sluggishly, and between the electric motor and paddling with pieces of lumber they’d pulled from the river, they managed to position the boat on the approach.
The bridge came closer. Water roared around the piers. The air tasted sharply of smoke. Beyond the DeSoto Bridge, on a broad drive at the river’s edge, flashed the lights of a dozen emergency vehicles. Nick was concentrating on the bridge overhead, eyes narrowed as he scanned the roadway for anything that could fall on them. The hum of the little electric motor was obliterated by the roar of water against the bridge piers. The sound of water against the piers was very loud. Jason trailed his pole over the stern to keep the boat from swinging.
For a long moment Jason looked straight up at the web-work of girders that supported the roadway. His heart throbbed in his chest. “Not today, O Lord,” he heard Nick murmur. And then they were past, out of the shadow of the Hernando DeSoto Bridge.
There were more bridges ahead, Jason saw. They should come ashore before they had to risk another bridge. He felt a fresh wind on his cheeks.
“We’re moving faster,” he said. “Do you feel it?”
A pair of loud bangs echoed from the girders above. Nick gave a start, looked forward. “Oh shit,” he said, and stood to grab the telescope, pointing it toward the flashing lights on Riverside Drive. Jason looked at the older man in surprise. Nick’s hands shook as he aimed the Astroscan. There was a wild look in the eye he put to the telescope.
“What’s wrong?” Jason said. He angled the pole to turn the boat toward the eastern shore.
“No!” Nick shouted. “Don’t turn!” His knuckles were taut over the plastic housing of the telescope.
“What’s wrong?” Jason straightened his course again.
Nick didn’t answer. Jason heard him panting for breath as he stared through the scope. “Damn!” Nick stared at Jason, and Jason wanted to take a step backward, away from the violence he saw in Nick’s reddened eyes.
“We’re not landing here,” Nick said. He vaulted onto the front deck, slammed the electric motor’s tiller over to turn the boat toward midstream. Jason stared.
“We’re not going to Memphis?” Jason stammered. “What—?”
“Look for yourself!”
“I—wait.” He pulled in his pole and made his way forward, put his eye to the scope, saw only sky. He readjusted the Astroscan, saw the line of vehicles on the river’s edge, police and an ambulance, uniformed men standing casually in clumps nearby. Whatever emergency had brought them there, the crisis seemed to be over.
Jason looked at Nick. “So?”
“You hear those shots?” Nick said.
Jason was thunderstruck. “Shots? Those were shots?”
Nick jumped into the cockpit, sat crouched down behind the broken windscreen as if to make himself less conspicuous. “Look down near the water,” he said.
Jason put his eye to the scope again. The cops still stood and were just standing in groups. They certainly didn’t look as if they were being shot at, or had just shot somebody. He panned the scope closer to the water, searched among the wreckage of the shore, and his heart jumped into his throat. There were bodies there. Two men, their bodies dragged just clear of the water. Both men were black.
“You sure they’re shot?” Jason asked.
“You heard the shots, right?”
“I heard—” He hesitated. “You sure those were shots?” Those men could have drowned, he wanted to say, they could be off a boat, maybe the police are just hauling them out of the water, but the words froze in his throat at the sight of Nick’s look, at the intensity that made Jason shiver.
“I’ve heard a lot of shots lately,” Nick said. “I should know what they sound like.”
“I—” The words stopped up in Jason’s mouth again. Nick was crazy, he thought. Nick was a criminal. Maybe he’d escaped from a prison or a chain gang or something.
The Mississippi tugged them with increasing force. The river was growing narrower, and the water had to run faster as a result. Jason looked in alarm at the bridge ahead—no, he saw, not just one bridge, but three of them very close together. None of them seemed to be in very good shape. Fallen spans were plain to see. He didn’t want to get anywhere near them.
“Listen,” Jason said finally. “They’re police, okay? There are ambulances there—medics. They can get you fixed up.” He pointed at the three broken bridges clustered just downstream. “Just look at the bridges!” he shouted.
Nick’s mouth was set in a firm line. The cables on his neck stood out. “Do you own this boat?” he demanded. “I know I don’t. That means that this boat is loot, and we are looters. In emergencies they shoot looters.” He looked at the flashing lights on the shore, his face hard as stone. “I’m not going to get shot.”
“But—” Jason’s mind whirled. “What—we’re not going to attack them. We’re—” Nick looked at him again, red-rimmed eyes searching Jason from head to foot. “Maybe you’d be okay,” he said. “You’re young, you’re white. But it’s open season on niggers out there, and I’m not going to float right up to them and get my ass shot.”
Jason’s blood turned hot. His heart churned in his chest. He gave a swift glance to the shore, bit his lip as he tried to decide whether he should swim for it. There was at least a third of a mile of water between him and the shore, and the water was full of debris—he’d have to dodge entire trees, with their roots and branches, and other wreckage as well. If he got tangled, there’d be no one to rescue him. Nick’s strong hand clamped on his wrist. “Don’t think it,” he said. “Don’t jump.” Fear shot through Jason as he realized that Nick had read his thoughts. Jason tried to snatch his arm back, but Nick’s adult grip was like a trap of spring steel that had closed around his wrist.
“Stop it,” Nick said. His voice was deep and hard.
Terror burned hot in Jason. He tugged again, shouted “Let me go!”
“Sit down!”
“Let me go! I’m not your kid!”
Nick’s steel grip forced Jason down, down into the seat next to Nick. Nick’s eyes blazed. Jason saw the sweat that gleamed on Nick’s forehead, the scratches and insect bites that marred his skin, the blood that flushed the eyewhites.