Archer Mayor - Three Can Keep a Secret

Sam and Joe threw themselves onto the quickly vanishing rope as Lester kept pulling the unnamed man ashore.

“Willy, you son of a bitch,” Joe heard Sammie grunting as she struggled for a foothold against the dead weight of the two in the water. “I will kill you if you survive this.”

* * *

In Waterbury, Bonnie Swift-her ears stuffed with toilet paper against the incessant, malfunctioning fire alarm-finally managed to use a fire extinguisher to smash the handle off the locked door to the Brooks Rehab unit in the basement, only to be pushed back by a four-foot wall of dammed-up water and a stationery store’s worth of papers, files, books, plastic trash cans, and, incongruously, one poster featuring surfing off Hawaii. She stumbled against the stairs behind her, fell on her back, and felt the tidal wave wash over her, smelling of diesel fuel and oil, among other things she didn’t want to know.

Spitting and rubbing her mouth, she staggered back to her feet, swearing and looking into the murky water for the flashlight that she’d dropped. In her search for the wandering Carolyn Barber, she’d found several people feverishly trying to rectify the building’s electrical problems, but no sign of the Governor.

And by now, what little light had been supplied by the heavily masked sun was all but gone, and the normally long summer day was shortened by the weather to resemble its briefest winter kin.

She followed a faint glow to her submerged waterproof flashlight, near the bottom step, and sloshed through the open door ahead, into a maze of shadowy corridors.

* * *

Carolyn Barber had blundered into the state hospital’s famed tunnels. Unperturbed, even smiling at the novelty of her surroundings, she walked slowly ahead, hands outstretched, along the narrow corridors. The state office complex sat atop a honeycomb of such passages, some large enough to house offices to either side; others so cramped as to qualify as crawl spaces. The purposes of these tunnels had varied over the decades, as had access to them, depending on the overhead building’s function. The state hospital and the public safety headquarters had been considered drum-tight, for instance. Others were pretty much common areas.

Until the water had altered all such distinctions.

Carolyn hadn’t been looking to escape. She hadn’t even known about the tunnels. She’d just wanted to return to her room. The tunnels-by the doors, defaulting to unlock instead of to lock-had simply been delivered to her. With the ebbing light, the disorienting noise, and her desire for peace and quiet, they’d appeared to offer solace.

She was beginning to fret, however. The water, for one thing, had deepened. Initially reminding her of when she’d enjoyed wading as a child, it had now reached her waist, and was not smelling good, either.

She stopped, working her perpetually fogged brain for a clear thought. She had memories of being able to do that. She remembered a time, long ago, when she hadn’t felt trapped in a daydream. But she couldn’t swear to it. After all, she also vaguely recalled having been called a leader once, although none of her listeners seemed to know of it, which made her doubtful. They did honor the title she’d insisted upon, the Governor, which sounded right to her, if again tempered by their bemused expressions.

She looked ahead. There was the tiniest sliver of light, perhaps from a small window, itself out of sight. It was enough for her to see that the water level and the low ceiling almost met as the floor ramped down beneath her. It didn’t seem like a good idea to keep going.

She turned to retrace her steps and let out a startled cry. Something large had appeared right behind her, floating up without a sound and wedging itself into the tight passage. She tentatively tried determining what it was, and what to do with it, her terror heightening. In fact, it was a large wooden desk, liberated from a nearby office by the rising water, and set free to float like a clumsy crate.

However, Carolyn didn’t know that. She just felt hemmed in, which was a bad thing for her in particular. She therefore opted for her original route-away from the hard, large, slightly bobbing threat and into the deeper water.

* * *

Jenn stared openmouthed at her colleague. “Oh, my God. Bonnie. What happened to you? Are you all right?”

Bonnie Swift was drenched, covered with filth, and appeared exhausted. Jenn gently moved one of the patients from a nearby chair and steered Bonnie toward it. They were all on the second floor, the lights were back on, the alarms had been stilled, and, other than the staffers keeping a perpetually keen eye open for any mishaps or sudden movements, things had become relatively boring.

“I lost the Governor,” Bonnie admitted, dropping into the seat.

Jenn’s eyes widened. “She’s dead?”

But Bonnie shook her head and shrugged. “No. I don’t know. Maybe. I lost her in the tunnels. She’s gone.”

* * *

“She still pissed at me?”

Joe smiled as he applied a Band-Aid over Willy’s left eye. “She mentioned something about a newborn’s father risking his life for the sake of a dirtbag who didn’t have the brains of a urinal cake.”

Willy burst out laughing. “She said that?”

Joe sat back, his task completed. “Almost a direct quote-the last part, anyhow.”

“I love it.”

“So, yes, she is still pissed at you,” Joe concluded, just so the point wasn’t missed.

Willy made a face. “I know.”

Joe put away the first aid kit. They’d moved to a small staging area not far from their river rescue site, recently established for unrelated reasons. There were several trucks from various fire departments surrounding them, an assortment of vehicles from FEMA and the National Guard-places aplenty for Sam to get out of the rain, have a hot drink, maybe find some dry clothes, and cool off far from Willy. Lights on tripods had been rigged around the periphery, which-given the comings and goings of strobe-equipped vehicles and the people milling about in electric-colored slickers-lent the entire scene the look of an alien landing site.

Joe understood both sides-the impulse that made Willy dive in after a man who was now claiming Willy had hit him on purpose in the process; and Sam’s maternal outrage. It spoke to the passion and decency of each of them, as far as Joe was concerned. One of the graces he’d valued during his career was that for as long as he could still show up at the office, he’d get to work with people whom he’d have happily selected as his own kids.

Even if, on occasion, they were ready to kill each other.

Lester Spinney ducked under the raised hatch door of the SUV that Willy and Joe were using as a rain tent.

“All patched up?” he asked.

“They take care of our two burglars-in-training?” Joe countered.

Lester nodded. “Took ’em out back and executed ’em. Beat ’em to death-didn’t want to waste bullets.”

Willy laughed as Joe just gave him a look.

“Yeah, boss,” Spinney conceded. “They’re under lock and key. No trip to Springfield, though. You hear what happened to the last transport detail that headed that way? Got swept up in the river. Lost the EQ; damn near lost the crew.”

“Everyone okay?” Joe asked.

“Wet and embarrassed, but fine. We’re gonna hear a thousand stories like that before this is done. Guaranteed.”

“Got anything for us?” Willy asked, already getting restless and, Joe suspected, wanting some more time between now and when he and Sam reconvened at home.

“Oh,” Lester said, “Yeah. We’ve been called up north. It’s a little vague, since communication is falling apart, but we should be able to make it. We’re supposed to hitch a ride with some other folks on a Humvee to a spot somewhere in Newfane. They say we can still reach it, at least for now. You hear they’re talking about evacuating the state EOC? The whole Waterbury complex flooded and it’s threatening their computers and power.”