chapter 3

ZAVION

The street was gone. Just an endless river, rising higher and higher and higher. Crouched in the attic, Zavion wished he could reach up into the sky. Turn off the faucet before the whole world overflowed. But wishing did no good. The world was falling apart.

Zavion couldn’t think. He couldn’t think of what to do. How could he not think of what to do? That was his job.

The real night had come and gone. Their cereal was gone. Juice, gone. The shingles on the roof of their house cracked and snapped. Zavion watched the dark, rising water suck them down.

“We have to get out of here by ourselves,” yelled Papa. His voice was sucked into the wind and rain too. “The house is falling apart.” He stared out the window. “Look—”

Water. All Zavion saw was water.

“That—” said Papa, pointing. “I think it’s a door.”

Zavion strained his eyes and saw something flat racing toward them.

“I’m going to jump onto that door,” said Papa, “and then you’re going to jump after me. Understand?”

A piece of the window frame tore off the house and plummeted into the water.

Zavion reached to grab Papa’s arm. “My room—” he gasped. “My mural. Mama’s mural. The mountain—”

Papa didn’t seem to hear. He balanced on the ledge of the attic window and jumped. The water was so high that it wasn’t far, but Zavion still held his breath until Papa’s feet hit the door. It tilted back and forth like a seesaw. Papa grabbed onto a corner of the house to keep the door from rushing down the river.

“Jump!” Papa yelled. Another piece of the window frame tore loose.

Zavion climbed onto the windowsill. He had a strange, strong urge to jump up and grab onto a sheet of rain and pull himself up. Up and up and up.

The wind squealed through the walls of the attic. Long and loud. An entire length of clapboard peeled off the side of the house.

“Zavion!” Papa yelled again. “I can’t keep this door still for much longer!” Papa’s voice matched the wind. A high-pitched scream. “Jump!”

Zavion closed his eyes. He jumped. He slammed onto the door just as a two-by-four from the attic hit the water next to him. The water splashed hard. The door tipped sharply. Zavion couldn’t keep his balance. He slid into the water. The water sucked him down quickly. It coated his skin, cold and slick. Papa’s fingers passed over Zavion’s arm, his neck, his hair, but Papa couldn’t get a hold of him. Papa’s hand finally grabbed Zavion’s shirt collar. Dragged him alongside the door. Zavion opened his eyes. Black. Dark. Sting. He couldn’t touch the bottom, and the rain was coming down so thick and fast it was hard to tell what was river and what was sky. Something firm and long moved across his legs. A snake. Zavion’s empty lungs forced his mouth open. He gulped water. Not air. Water. Oily and thick. Papa yanked him back onto the door.

Zavion lay on his back, coughing and spitting thick liquid from his lungs.

“Zavion!” Papa yelled right near his face. “Zavion!”

Zavion turned his head and saw his house—now a small, ragged box in the distance. The two-by-fours holding up the house looked like legs. They buckled at the knees and snapped. More tiles flew off the collapsing roof, like birds or bats, spinning and crashing into the water.

Zavion grabbed two of the broken slate shingles as they rushed by.

“Papa—”

But Zavion had nothing to say.

“Hands out of the water, Zav,” said Papa. “There are snakes in there.”

Zavion peered into the water. Water moccasins. He remembered the thick, cold water in his own mouth and shuddered. He looked up instead. The rows of rooftops that were still intact stood like islands. A man and a woman were on top of one, clutching a sign between them. HELP US, it said.

There was nowhere safe to look.

Zavion looked nowhere for what seemed like a long time.

Then Papa said, “We gotta walk now.”

The water level was lower here. Zavion didn’t remember seeing it go down, but he could tell. The top steps leading up to a few houses were visible.

“Where are we going?” Zavion asked.

“Forward” was all Papa said.

Zavion wanted to walk up, not forward, but he shoved the shingles into his pocket, climbed off the door, and stepped into the waist-high water. Papa grabbed Zavion’s hand. The wind tore through their fingers, pulling them apart. As they slogged through the rain and wind, Zavion tried to get his bearings, but nothing looked familiar. Not the sky, not the trees, not the…street.

He could barely even remember the word street.

It didn’t matter. There was no word for what they were walking through now.