Storm (23 page)

Queen and The Male race for the rope and disappear over the side. Bash races after them. He’s leaving me. No! But he’s right, of course he’s right. Why should both of us be swept away? He can go down into the middle deck. He can ride out this windstorm there.

The ark rocks hard. I splay my legs and arms out. I’m a sea star, trying to cling. The child within me is like a giant stone that I’m lying on. I’m afraid to roll over onto my back. The wind might catch me when I’m on my side. But I can’t stay this way. I roll over. The knife flies away.

But I don’t. I’m still here. Good. I flatten my palms on the wood so that I can at least try to grip with my fingers.

Something pulls at me. The wind has a savage grip. But it’s Bash. He runs the rope across my chest, above my breasts. He pries me up enough to circle the rope behind my back and across my chest again. Then he plunges forward against the wind with the end of that rope, going all the way to the other wooden loop—on the opposite side of the roof. He ties it firm there. I am tied to the roof.

He runs back to me and is blown off his feet. He scrabbles across the roof on hands and knees and lies half on me, half beside me, face down, one giant arm reaching across my chest, pinning me down and holding on to the rope beyond me. I can’t see his other arm, but I trust it’s holding the rope in the other direction. I circle his chest with my arms.

He should have tied himself, too. He’s crazy. He should go do that now. But he could only tie himself way over there—at the other edge, where the other wooden loop is. Then he’d be far from me. And it’s too late now anyway. The ark rocks too violently. I hold him as tight as I can.

Water sprays us! Water, up here on the roof. The humans must be running crazy through the ark, shutting all the porthole hatches. Oh no! “Bash, what if the porthole was closed? Queen and The Male . . .”

“They got in. I watched, Sheba. I didn’t pull the rope up until they were inside. They’re safe.”

“You should have gone down too.”

“No, I shouldn’t have.”

The ark lists. I clutch Bash so hard, I think my fingers will go through his flesh. The spray hits us like countless bee stings.

And then a wave crashes over us. I can’t breathe. I’m drowning in salt water. I shake my head, I struggle. I can’t breathe! But it’s gone. It’s gone.

I won’t survive another.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I think of praying to Ba’al again, after all this time. But if he’s decided to destroy the last remains of life on earth, what good would my prayers do? It’s better just to lock myself inside my head, closed away from everything else. Everything except the ribs of the man who lies halfway on me.

The wind blows on and on and on. Hour after hour. Forever.

Slowly, though, the howls grow softer. The ark rocks less. The sprays cease.

And then all motion ceases. I open my eyes. It’s dawn. And the sky that has been perfectly clear, perfectly empty since the rains stopped, now actually holds clouds. Only a few, and thin ones. But clouds, nevertheless.

Bash’s head is turned away from me. But I feel the expansion and contraction of his chest within my arms. I hold his life.

“Bash?”

He lifts his head. Then he sits back on his heels and rubs his eyes. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

I smile. “We’re alive.”

“And not moving.”

“Yes! I thought we weren’t moving. Then I thought I’d lost my mind. Please, would you untie me?”

Bash disappears. He comes back holding the end of the rope. He unwinds it from around me.

I sit up.

Bash shakes his head. “There’s blood across your shift. The rope cut into your back.”

“A small price. Bash?”

“I’m listening.”

“You stayed with me.”

“Mmm.”

“You were right here.”

“How’s the belly?”

I put my hands on my belly. “I don’t know. Maybe fine.”

Bash cups his hands around his mouth and puts them to my belly. “Hellooooo, baby!” he shouts. “How’re you doing in there?”

“You’re a silly one.”

Bash stands and looks around. “Nothing but sea everywhere. We must have grounded on a mountaintop.”

“Which means land should show soon.” I get to my feet. My cheeks heat with excitement. “The waters are retreating.”

Bash nods. “It won’t be fast, though. It took a long time to flood the world. It will take a long time to dry it.”

“Where do you think we are?”

“Does it matter?” asks Bash.

“I guess not.” I survey the roof. “We have nothing now. No bucket, no tent. I couldn’t even hold on to the knife. All we have is the rope.”

“And each other.”

“Yes.”

Bash takes my hand.

D
on’t move! I’ve got a knife!”

I wake with such a start, my stomach twists and I barely have time to get on all fours before I vomit.

Nela stands over me, illuminated by the moon. She clutches a knife in her fist and holds it high, ready to strike. “This knife is sharp.”

I sit back on my heels. My throat stings and vomit clings to my bottom lip. “I believe you,” I manage to croak.

“Then stop moving. I mean it.”

I hold still, while my eyes take in as much of the roof as they can without me turning my head. Nela’s alone. But so am I. Bash is off on his nightly mission. Queen and The Male are in their enclosure—they haven’t come up to the roof again since the windstorm three nights ago.

“I was afraid you’d be here.” The long blade of the knife shakes a little in Nela’s hand. “Who are you?”

I shrug one shoulder.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

My mouth is so sour, my stomach threatens to pitch again. I can’t even shrug for fear of retching.

“You weren’t chosen by Noah. You’re not part of the Mighty Creator’s plan.” She closes her other fist onto the knife handle too.

I tense my legs, ready to spring aside.
Come, voice, please come back.
“I’m alive,” I whisper hoarsely. “So if the Mighty Creator is making all this happen, I am part of the plan.”

Her mouth goes hard and her eyes glitter in the moonlight. “That’s my shift.”

“I have nothing else to wear.”

“I saw you that night. In the bonobo cage.” Nela’s voice gets very low. “You look bigger now, but even then I could tell you were with child. Is the baby within you bonobo?”

I gape at her. I could laugh if I didn’t want to scream. No wonder she called me wicked that night. I shake my head as hard as I dare. “He’s human.”

“Where’s his father?”

“He died.”

Nela’s face softens a little. “Why were you in that cage?”

“Please don’t point the knife. You’re scaring me.”

“You’re dangerous.”

I hold out my hands. “I have no weapon. And I wouldn’t hurt you anyway. Please.”

Nela slowly lowers her arms. “Who are you?”

“I’m called . . . Sheba. Listen, my mouth tastes awful. Can I swirl some water around in it? Please?” I point at our buckets—one has seawater, one has sweet. Nela backs up. I crawl past her, slosh seawater around in my mouth, and spit it out. I sit and pivot to face her.

Nela’s eyes take in the whole roof. “You exist up here with nothing but two buckets?”

“Everything got washed away in the great windstorm.”

“Everything? So then you stole these buckets from one of the decks below?”

“You have more than enough.”

“How do you know how many buckets we have?”

I wipe my mouth off. “How did you get up here?”

“I’m asking the questions.”

“Anything you could ask me has an obvious answer. I’m on the ark because if I wasn’t, I’d be dead. I came up to the roof because you saw me and I figured you’d all throw me overboard.”

“We never threw anyone overboard.” Nela shakes her head. “We just didn’t let them get on in the first place.”

“Do you think Noah would let me stay if he knew I was here?”

Nela stares at me. “You know his name.”

“I overheard your family talking. I know all your names.”

“You were with the bonobos the whole time?”

“Until you saw me.”

“You heard the things I said to them?” Her eyes are glassy.

“I’m sorry you were so tormented by the loss of your shift. But I had no clothes. Nothing.”

Nela doesn’t speak. Her eyes brim with held-back tears.

“How did you learn so much about animals?” I ask gently.

She tilts her head as though she’s trying to understand my question.

“I lived with the bonobos,” I say, “yet you taught me things about them. You understand animals.”

Nela’s silent a long while. Finally she says, “They fascinate me.”

“Me too.”

“They’re usually so . . . innocent. Not the bonobos—they’re clever. They can trick and deceive. The other apes, and the monkeys, too, they’re all clever. But the rest of the animals are direct. They know what they need, and they do what they can to get it.”

“Queen and The Male aren’t deceitful.”

“Who are they?”

I dare to smile. “That’s what I named them, the bonobos. They’ll tease. And they laugh. It’s so much fun when they laugh.”

A corner of Nela’s mouth goes up in a half smile. “Laugh? Like ha-ha-ha?”

“No. It’s a funny little squeak. High, like a child’s voice. But I know it’s laughter. When we play games, they laugh like maniacs.”

Nela smiles full now. “I’d like to hear that.”

“Will you tell me now, how did you get up here?”

“There’s a ladder to a hatch door, for the helmsman. It’s right by where I sleep.”

Beads of sweat form on my forehead despite the cold night. That helmsman is like Noah’s extra eyes. Ada said Mother Emzara obeys Noah’s rules when he’s around. “So that Puzur Amurri, he’s going to come up?”

“No. He was supposed to. Once land showed, he was supposed to come up to the roof so he could look around in all directions and situate us and steer us back toward home. But now that we’re grounded, no one can steer anywhere.”

I close my eyes in gratitude a moment. It’s only Nela I have to deal with, not all of them. I open my eyes and wipe the sweat away. “Why did you come up?”

“To see every which way. Now that the ark has stopped moving, it’s not dangerous—and I couldn’t wait any longer.”

“You can see better in daytime.”

“Daytime’s impossible.” Nela turns in a circle. She turns again. And again. Slower each time. “It’s magnificent. The vastness of it. The sea is like the heavens now—endless. It makes me understand how small I am. That’s what I hoped for.” She gives a sad little laugh. “A different perspective.”

“Who knows you came up?”

She straightens a little. “Don’t think about trying to throw me overboard.”

“I’m not. Really. I’m just trying to figure out who’s going to show up next. Who’s going to come looking for you?”

“Are you joking? If you really listened to us all, you have to know I didn’t tell anyone. Noah won’t let us do anything unless it’s his idea from the start. And he seems to have no ideas unless the Mighty Creator tells him to do something. So I snuck up here. Everyone else is asleep.”

“And you brought a knife.”

“I came ready. But you’re not dangerous.” She laughs. Then she sobers up fast. “It’s not like you said—no one’s going to accept that you have a right to be here simply because you are here. Noah’s the one who tells us what the Mighty Creator wants, not you. You’re in trouble.” Nela puts her left hand to her cheek. Her right hand still holds the knife.

“I know why Queen doesn’t become with child.”

Nela’s eyes widen. “Why?”

“She’s too young. She’s never gone into heat, all these months. I don’t know when she’ll be mature, but I bet she’s got a couple of years to go.”

Nela nods. “I thought so. That was the most likely reason. I just hoped . . . well, you know what I hoped. You listened.” Her voice is an accusation.

“I didn’t mean to. I mean, yes, of course I listened. I had to know what was on your mind. I had to be ready to flee or defend myself all the time. But I didn’t try to know secrets about your life. I wouldn’t do that to you on purpose. I swear, Nela.”

She blinks, then smiles.

“The first time I saw you, you reminded me of someone. A girl I loved. But you’re pretty different from her. You’re strong in lots of ways. You pay attention to things others ignore. I like you. I always used to wish we could talk.”

She gives another little laugh. “So, are we to be friends then?”

“I hope so. Because I need your help.”

Her face goes wary. “How?”

“No one can come up here. Please. If Noah sends someone up, you have to stop them.”

“I can’t. What excuse could I give? But I could warn you if I hear someone’s going to, and you could go down to another deck. Maybe back to the bonobos.”

“How?”

“The same way you got up here.” She raises a brow. “How did you get up here?”

“I can’t tell you. It would only make it harder for you to keep silent about me.”

She looks horrified. “You don’t practice the secret arts, do you? You’re not demonic?”

“No, nothing like that. I’m just a person—like you.”

“Really?” Nela shakes her head. “I couldn’t survive on this roof alone. How do you do it? How do you even get water?”

“I lower the bucket with a rope.”

“But sweet water?”

“I crack fish bones. The spines hold water. So do the eyes.”

“How do you get fish?”

“The same way you do. Please, Nela, believe me. I can’t do anything special. That’s why I need you so much. If you don’t protect me . . . Please. Don’t let them find me.”

Nela looks at me with troubled eyes. “I’ll try.”

“And . . .”

“And?”

“We just made friends, but we can’t see each other again. You can’t come back up here.”

“Why not? I won’t tell anyone.”

“If the women should wake while you’re gone, they might go looking for you.” Good grief—if they went looking for Nela in the night, they might stumble across Bash on a lower deck. I swallow hard. “If they realized you weren’t anywhere to be found, they’d wake the men and someone would think of the roof. And even if no one did, when you showed up again, they’d question you. Or they might even be there when you go down and see where you came from. I’d be lost.”