chapter 43

ZAVION

The wind cut through the sky, a sound like scissors through paper.

Zavion glanced up. The dark was getting darker. The wind tore the black away and revealed a blacker black behind it. Rain began to fall. The wind tore into his skin. He felt it rip into his arm and his neck and face, and then felt the sting of the rain. He wasn’t sure if his legs would hold him up.

“Hey—”

He heard someone’s voice, but he didn’t look back.

“Hey—” the voice said. “Are you okay?”

Another rumble. This time it was louder. Zavion’s ears began to ring.

“Mama—” he said.

A long, deep cracking sound. Like something being split open. Zavion could barely hear now. There was a flash of lightning. A boy’s face—the boy with the bird—shone for a second and Zavion could see his mouth move, but he couldn’t hear what he was saying. Zavion felt a hand on his shoulder.

Another cracking sound. Again, something being split open. Was it him? Was he being split open wide? Zavion scrambled up a pile of something by the side of the market. Pieces of a wall. He climbed as high as he could. A musty, windy water smell filled his nose. A levee was crumbling. The wind and the water flooded over him. There was a squealing in his ears. The violin sound. It was back. Mama—

He climbed Grandmother Mountain higher. Zavion put his hands over his ears. He lost his balance. He was falling—

—falling from his attic window, falling onto the door, falling off the door into the rushing, rising water—

“Hey—” A voice cut through the squealing.

Hands grabbed him. Another crack of thunder. In the lightning flash, Zavion saw his own hands gripping the back of someone’s shirt. The windy water smell filled Zavion’s nose again, and the flooding sensation rose inside his body.

“Hey—” The voice again. “Stay with me here, okay?”

Who was talking to him?

“This isn’t a hurricane,” the voice said. “You are safe.” The person pressed his hand into Zavion’s shoulder. “You are safe,” he repeated.

“What’s happening to him?” Zavion heard another voice ask.

“Hello,” said a third voice. “You are safe. You are safe. You are safe.” Another crack of thunder. The long, high squeal of the violin. Too close, too close. A bird screeched. And then the levee crumbled to the ground.

“No, I am not! I am not safe!” Zavion tried to stand up, but a hand kept him still.

“You are,” the voice said.

“NO! NO ONE IS SAFE! WHERE IS PAPA? WHERE IS MAMA? WHERE IS SHE?”

“Come back here—”

“DON’T YOU SMELL IT?”

“You’re okay, son—”

“THE WIND! THE WATER!” He couldn’t stop yelling. “WHAT IF I FALL?” Words poured out of him.

“No!” The voice was yelling now too. The person gripped Zavion’s arms. “No, you won’t fall!” The person turned his head. “Hold on to his other shoulder,” he said. The other person knelt down next to Zavion. “Put pressure on him. Let him know you’re here.”

“WHAT IF I CAN’T BREATHE?”

“You won’t stop breathing,” said the first voice.

“WHAT IF I DIE?”

“You won’t die,” said the voice again.

“Jeezum Crow. He’s as stiff as a board,” came a different, quiet voice next to Zavion.

And like Luna in the market—

—like Mama—

the voice said, “You’re okay. You’re okay.”