The Feathered Bone (20 page)

Our electricity is out. We're relying on the weather radio. It's been blaring alarm warnings about Hurricane Katrina since five thirty this morning: “extreme tropical cyclone” and “destructive wind warning.” We haven't seen it get too bad here in Walker, however. Just a heavy dose of wind and rain.

While Katrina makes her way north over southeast Louisiana, we launch a game of Bourré. Carl shuffles the cards. “Ante up,” he says, tossing in the loose change from his pockets.

After finding a bunch of coins in the junk drawer, Ellie and I add our own money to the pot and Carl deals us five cards each. Beanie watches from the sofa, curled safe from the storm.

“Sarah never plays cards with us. She thinks it's a sin.”

It's the first time Ellie has mentioned a specific memory with Sarah, and I'm not sure how to respond. “Yep,” I say. “But she loves Yahtzee.”

Ellie laughs. “And Monopoly.”

“That game takes forever,” Carl adds, smiling, and the three of us reminisce about the girls' board-game competitions that would sometimes stay in play for weeks on end.

I surrender my lowest number cards and draw two replacements. Ellie stands pat, leading with the ace of spades. By about the tenth round of play she's managed to win the entire pile of change. “Beginner's luck,” Carl teases her, and we're all laughing when the weather alarm sounds again.

This time the update announces the eye of Katrina is moving across St. Tammany Parish. “Sustained winds of 110 miles per hour with gusts up to 135.” People in these areas, including Hancock and Harrison Counties of Mississippi, are advised to take shelter in an interior room.

“Far away,” Carl tells Ellie. “Don't worry. I'll keep you safe.” He gives her a confident smile.

As we continue to play cards, the wind snaps a long, heavy limb, tumbling it through the sky with as little effort as a child throwing a toothpick. Rain pummels the house. The yard fills with water as our ditches overflow. Pinecones hit the roof like grenades.

“Maybe we should have boarded the windows,” I say. “Think it'll get worse?”

“You think I don't know how to take care of my family?” Carl snaps.

My stomach tightens. No matter how careful I am, something I do always seems to set him off. He thinks I'm against him.

“I'm just asking if the tape will hold,” I explain. “The wind seems to be getting stronger.”

Carl gives me the all-too-familiar death glare and then speaks to Ellie as if I'm not here. “It's already heading into Mississippi. Nothing we haven't seen before. Your mother's crazy. You know that, don't you?”

Ellie laughs, and Carl eggs her on. They tease me for making a big deal out of things. I tune in to the warnings that continue to stream from the radio. Reportedly, the communications hub in New Orleans has suffered massive power outages, so the alerts now have more to do with Mississippi than Louisiana, but again and again warnings are issued, many for microbursts churning from Katrina's eye wall. We learn Bogalusa has been hit hard by spin-off winds. That's the town near the Pearl River where Beth's mother lives.

“I should call Beth.” I reach for my phone and Carl reacts, shooting me his death glare again. With one look he manages to make me feel stupid. As if I'm his biggest problem. I leave the phone alone and return my full attention to Carl, as he demands.
Beth will call when she needs me.
I try not to feel guilty that I'm sitting at home with Ellie and Carl while my friends are sitting out the storm, worried about Sarah.

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

We made it through Monday night without electricity. We're using the generator to run the refrigerator, which leaves us no air-conditioning. The heat and humidity are intense, even with the windows open. We're soaked in sweat.

“We could go to the church.” I fan Ellie with a piece of cardboard. “They've got a bigger generator there. We need to help anyway.”

Carl's not having it. He shoots me his look. I cave again into silence, but Ellie stands her ground. “Let's go.” She grabs a few basics and heads toward the door, not giving her father a chance to argue.

Somehow this works, and within the hour, we're at the church. The parking lot is packed, and we enter the reception hall to find a crowd. Tables and chairs have been arranged so that families are sectioned off, eating, drinking, talking. No one seems particularly upset or anxious.

Except Beth.

Ellie runs straight to one of the box fans as Beth greets us, her fingers pressed against her scalp. “I've been trying to call you. Cell
towers are out. Lines are jammed. No Internet either. Have you heard?”

I shake my head. “We haven't heard anything since we lost power,” I explain. “Just the weather radio. Told us it had turned east. And that Bogalusa got pummeled with winds. Were you able to reach your mom?”

She pulls us outside, whispering after the door has closed. “It did go east, and yes, she managed to get a call to us. Said she's okay but her house isn't. Two trees crashed through it. Thank goodness my uncle is there with her. Chimney bricks were rolling down the roof like they were nothing but pinecones. Crazy. But they're both safe.”

I settle, relieved, but Beth stands tall and serious. “Now listen,” she says. “It's awful. Aunt Betty just got through to me too. Took her four hours. I'm telling you, communication has been tough. She's up in Memphis, watching it all on the news.”

“What's she know?” I ask.

Carl stares blankly, waiting for more.

“It's bad, Amanda. Biloxi, Waveland, Gulfport. All destroyed. Nothing left. Entire stretches of the Mississippi coastline wrecked, right down to the slabs. That's all you can see for miles. Entire neighborhoods are gone. Just gone. Sarah could be out there.” Beth's eyes fill with tears, and she stutters as she speaks. She's no longer the poised diplomat, polished and ready for front-pew politics.

“Remember what you said at first, Beth. Remember? This is our chance to find her.” I try my best to calm her nerves. “She's at a shelter. I'm sure of it.”

“No, listen. I haven't told you the worst.” She steadies herself against the church door, then continues. “The footage showed the storm as it was hitting New Orleans. If Sarah's there . . .” Beth
stops again, trying to regain composure. She dabs her eyes before continuing. “There were roofs peeling back like plastic wrappers, Amanda. Much worse than what we saw here.”

Around us, limbs and leaves have been strewn in every direction, as if Mother Nature threw a frat party and we've arrived the next day to find the mess. Beth follows my line of sight to the debris, reading my thoughts. “Yeah, see what I'm saying. Even here the traffic lights were spinning and the houses were shaking. But there, all those high-rises. Shattered glass flying everywhere. Curtains ripping from rooms. She said it looked like a war zone.”

As Beth talks, her emotions take over. Carl seems more annoyed than concerned. I push this to the back of my brain and focus instead on Beth's story.

“Even parts of the Superdome blew apart. It was raining in the dome. All those people, sleeping on the floor. They had to move up into the seats and hope the rest of the roof wouldn't fall to pieces. Can you imagine? All I can think is where is Sarah? Do you know how scared she must be?”

I listen. Carl does too. All night we've stayed by Ellie's side. Sleeping in the same room together, comforting her as the branches broke and the wind howled. Surely he must feel something.

“And it's worse than that,” Beth continues. “The levees. In New Orleans. They didn't hold.”

“Serious?” Carl questions.

“I can't imagine it either, but Aunt Betty says the news keeps showing water up to rooftops. They think a barge got blown from its anchor. Slammed through one of the concrete walls or something. That's all it took.”

Carl wipes sweat from his brow. “Seems a stretch.”

“They think there's more than one breach.” Beth keeps going,
despite Carl's resistance. “The canals are overflowing. Some of the pump houses aren't working.” Speaking faster now, she is near panic. “The water flooded in so fast it even came up from the drains, snapping those manhole covers off. Like popcorn. People are dying, Amanda. They're dying.”

She starts crying harder. I pull her to me and try my best to offer comfort.

“Sarah won't be in those places, Beth. Listen. I'm sure she's at a shelter. We'll find her. Have you talked to Jay?”

“No. I'm telling you. I can't get a call through to anyone. I'm clawing at my skin. I need to get out of here. I need to get to New Orleans.”

“Okay. Let's think this through.” I try to slow the pace, help her mind settle. Give her a few solid plans to cling to.

“The news is showing dead bodies. In the streets, Amanda. My child could be—”

Carl has had enough. “I'm going to find Preacher.”

“Beth, listen.” I brush the hair from her wet cheeks as Carl goes back inside the fellowship hall. “The media exaggerate. Rumors get out of control. It can't be that bad.”

“The water came in so fast. Some of those people couldn't swim. They were grabbing two-by-fours, beer kegs, coolers. Anything that would float. And some couldn't get out, Amanda. They had to claw their way to the attic, break through to the roof. Think of the ones who couldn't break through!”