Orleans (26 page)

“This be another step, Baby Girl,” I say. “Tell ’em to set up the nursery in California. We gonna get you a nice new home.”

Message sent, I pick my way back across the lake before it get too deep again. Daniel be waiting for me without a word to say for once. I hustle him back over the wall and we continue on to Mr. Go.

• • • 

DANIEL PAUSED AND PLACED A HAND ON THE
tree in front of him.

INQUIRY:
Analyze compound sample.

RESPONSE:
Desiccated live oak.

INQUIRY:
Contaminants?

RESPONSE:
High concentration of sodium nitrate.

Like the other live oaks he had seen, this one was tall, spreading its branches overhead in an umbrella canopy that blocked the sky. But instead of the gray-green spread of leaves and hairlike Spanish moss draped in their boughs, the tops of these trees were reddish brown, bleeding into a dry, powdery orange shade that faded to dun at the roots. In spite of everything, he could not quell his curiosity about this place.

After leaving the lake, they had wound their way silently through neighborhoods of crumbled buildings and wild greenery, and now this forsaken bit of woodland. All of the trees were orange, rising improbably out of the marshy earth. To Daniel, it seemed like they were standing in a forest of rust.

“What is this place?” he asked her. Fen was already foraging ahead along some unseen route through the mucky forest floor. Her narrow shoulders rose and fell in a shrug.

“A place, like any other.”

She paused by a tree made even more distinctive by the hole in its trunk and dropped something inside.

“But the trees?”

Fen looked at him, one hand cradling the baby’s bottom, the other at her shoulder, thumb tucked into the sling. “Boy, didn’t you ever hear curiosity killed the cat?”

Daniel half smiled beneath his encounter suit. It was a good warning for him.

“What did you just do there?” he asked, nodding toward the tree.

“What did I say about the cat?” she shot back, moving forward again.

Daniel grimaced. “Strike that.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t. “Smuggler drop. Leave a note, they pick it up, get you what you want.”

Daniel’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Does it work?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“What did you ask for?”

“A home for Baby Girl,” I say. “That about all I want. A good home.”

Daniel followed in silence a moment longer, but found he couldn’t help himself. “Why are the trees covered in rust?”

“You the one with the fancy datalink, you tell me,” Fen said.

“I think it’s got something to do with the water here,” Daniel guessed. He sniffed the air, splortching forward through the soft mud. “It’s briny. Like seawater. Like maybe there was a breach in the levees and the water from the Gulf came up too far and killed the trees.”

“Maybe, tourist. You got all the answers,” Fen muttered.

Daniel hurried to catch up with her. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said.

Fen didn’t look at him. “I ain’t upset.”

Daniel slowed his pace and let her go back to leading him. He didn’t want to aggravate her. Instead, he turned to the trees, wondering at the flaking lacework of brittle, fire-colored branches beneath the pale blue sky.
Such a strange place to live.
He thought back to the men on horseback, swirling and chanting, waving their torches in the air. Yes, the Delta was dangerous, but it was still very much alive.

Ever since the Separation, the Outer States had been decaying. Back home, riots were more common than parades, protests over food and clean water. Torches were used to firebomb empty storefronts rather than light the night. Yes, there were still schools and grocery stores and amusement parks in the States, buildings without trees growing through their roofs. The Outer States had almost everything that Orleans didn’t. But the Delta still lived on.

32

THIS BOY BE DRIVING ME CRAZY. I REACH UP
to tug at my braids but they ain’t there. Traded for this fool’s life. I shake my head. No point in regrets. Even with all his questions and jabbering, Daniel done put his neck out for me like nobody but Lydia’d ever do. And now I be doing it for him, too. I look down at Baby Girl dozing in my arms and wonder if being a baby mama making me soft. But I know we wouldn’t have made it this far without him.

We leave the dead forest and move into greenery again. Ain’t far now. I smell the water before I see it, heavy with salt and dead leaves. Mr. Go’s bayou be just up ahead. The woods around us be quiet, the sun softer as it head to the horizon. I wait and listen. This ain’t nobody’s territory, which make it everybody’s. I scan the trees, but we alone.

“This is the same river?” Daniel ask.

“Same as what?”

“The Mississippi. That the hunters took us across.”

I shake my head. The wind around my hacked hair feel strange and I take a minute to run a hand over my head again.

“We got more rivers than land these days,” I say. “But this ain’t part of the old river. It be Mr. Go’s bayou.”

I stop and point ahead. The river ain’t more than thirty yards across here, and in the middle of the water be a lemon-shaped bunker with the river flowing fast around either side. The roof covered in baby trees like the ones close to shore for camouflage. It be hard to find if you don’t know what you be looking for. But I do.

I walk over to a tree stump a few feet from the shore. It be wide enough for one person to sit on. But it ain’t for sitting. I knock on the pale exposed surface of the inner wood and Daniel’s jaw drop for the second time today.

“Who’s that knocking at my door?” a man’s voice say from the stump.

“Fen,” I say.

“And who’s that with you, Fenny Fen Fen?” Daniel be looking around for cameras, I guess.

I lean toward the stump. “A friend.”

Suddenly, the water level drop, like Moses parting the Red Sea, ’til the canal bed be damp, but not dry. I scramble down the bank and across the mucky river bottom, Baby Girl in my arms and Daniel right behind me. Together we scale the mound of land in the middle of the river, like a beaver’s dam, where Mr. Go make his home.

The minute we top the sloping walls of the island, the protective waters swirl back into place. Mr. Go designed the canal, and I see Daniel be impressed. I lead him around to a set of stairs and a doorway that weren’t visible from shore. The door slide open and Mr. Go be standing there, smiling.

“Welcome,” he say, his square teeth bright in his mahogany face. Mr. Go’s hair be almost as white as his teeth, but streaked with gray, in a springy bush that be higher on top than the sides. If I ain’t careful, my hair be looking like his soon.

Dressed in a pale gray tunic and loose pants, he make Daniel and me look sloppy in our dirty clothes. Daniel peek around me, trying to look inside. Mr. Go smile even wider.

“Please, come in. Make yourselves at home.”

“Home” be a massive greenhouse dense with life. It run the length of two hogans and be full of fruits, vegetables, trees, and flowers. The old man point to a funny set of white wrought-iron chairs and a small table holding a wooden tray of food. “Fen, I see you’ve brought a smuggler with you,” he say. “And, is that a child?”

“This one been a help,” I tell him, with a nod toward Daniel, who look surprised. Telling him about Baby Girl gone be a bigger conversation. Mr. Go give me one of his studying looks. He know I’m stalling, but he let me.

“I’m sure he has,” he say smoothly. “Please, have a seat, sir.” He point to the table. “I know I have some bottled water and packaged food here somewhere, if you are tired of your nutrient packs. I assure you it is quite safe in here without your suit on.” He point to the plants—banana trees with they upside-down bouquets of fruit, sweet potato vines snaking along the wall, tomatoes, roses, and a dozen other kinds of flowers, fruits, and vegetables in these first few yards. “You see, the flora in here acts as a filter for the toxins in the water. The first generation cleansed and the next purified. My garden is fourth generation now, and purely hydroponic.” He show Daniel the roots of the plants, rising out of glass basins, roots like white worms in a swamp. “Quite independent of the outside world. Quite safe.”

“Thank you,” Daniel say in his filtered voice, but he don’t remove his mask.

“As you wish.” Mr. Go give him a little bow and take a seat. “At least sit with me. I haven’t dined yet. And Fen, you certainly are welcome to eat your fill. Then you can tell me about your little companion and what brings you here today.”

“Can I use your bathroom first?” I ask. I ain’t got a suit like Daniel, but I didn’t want to stop with evening coming on. And I ain’t talking to Mr. Go about Lydia until I’m straight. I see Daniel looking at me and Mr. Go, like he trying to figure something out, but that can wait.

“No need to stand on formality here, Fen,” Mr. Go say, taking a bite of sliced mango. It sure smell good and sweet to me, but that can wait, too. “We’re old friends. Please.” He wave me down the long hall before turning his full attention to his meal.

• • • 

DANIEL STOOD IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROOM,
uncertain what to do once Fen was gone. Things tended to go badly when she wasn’t around.
Stupid, Daniel.
All of the danger they had faced and now he was afraid of a smiling old man. An old Orleanian who had no record of existing.

“Mr. Go is not your real name,” Daniel said.

Mr. Go wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. “No, it’s not.”

“Um . . . my name is Daniel,” he offered belatedly, and slowly pulled out a chair across from the other man.

“Daniel, a pleasure,” Mr. Go said, not accepting Daniel’s proffered gloved hand. He indicated the fruit juice on his own hands and gave an apologetic shrug. “I’d rather not make a mess of things,” he said. “Daniel. A good name, by the way. Strong. It means
God is my judge,
like Daniel and the lions’ den.”

Daniel laughed, an odd burst of static through the suit’s filters. “That’s what Fen said.”

“Ah, that’s because Fen was a student of mine years ago. It’s good to know she remembers the old stories.”

“A student?” Daniel asked.

“Yes, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First, I should introduce myself properly. My Christian name is Simeon Wells. I hail from Chicago, Illinois, in the Outer States of America. I used to work for the Department of Agriculture. This would have been before you were born, before the great storms, even before Katrina.” He wiped the juices from his mouth with his napkin, then folded it in half to draw his knife through, wiping it clean. “And then after the storm years, I joined the Army Corps of Engineers.”

Placing his napkin down, he selected an apple from a bowl on the table, and methodically sliced it into wedges, scooping the seeds from the core as he continued. “The people here affectionately call me Mr. Go because I helped redesign this canal we are sitting in. It drains the surrounding areas the way the original Mississippi River Gulf Outlet, or MRGO, was meant to.”