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  “There’s not much to tell, really,” Enid said, trying even to remember what had happened before and during the storm. The ruins seemed dream-like now. The journey back had been surreal.

  Leave the performance to Dak. His cheeks had spots of red, his hair was a tangle, but he was finally smiling again. “A tale of high adventure,” he said. “We went exploring. Great idea until that storm came up. But you could guess that, looking at how it turned out, yeah?” Folk murmured with amazement.

  “You must have hunkered down somewhere,” a woman asked.

  “Naw, we were caught in the open,” and on he went, turning their last two days into some kind of noble undertaking. If Enid had been left telling the story, she would have said that it really had been a good idea, but they’d made some mistakes and learned a lot. Next time, she’d keep better watch on the skies.

  Abe poured more tea for them. “Not the worst storm I’ve ever seen, but it’s up there. One of the worst, for sure. I didn’t lose any buildings, at least.”

  “It’s the worst I’ve seen, I think. Any word from other places?” Enid asked. “How bad is it?”

  “Haven’t gotten any messages. Everyone here was already on the road. The rain’s barely stopped, so it may be a while.”

  “So nothing from Haven?”

  “Is that where you’re from?” Abe asked.

  “Well, I am.” She glanced at Dak, who’d gone back to staring blankly at the fire, exhaustion flattening his features.

  “I’ll let you know if anyone comes by from there. But you kids should get some sleep. Here, stay by the fire. We’ll keep an eye on you so you don’t burn up.”

  Dak reached for her, and they wrapped their blankets up together. She was still cold, the chill inside battling with the roasting on her skin. But she was getting better. Being dry helped, and nested against Dak she finally felt safe, and slept.

  //////////////////////////////////////////////////

  Only after a couple of hours of sleep was Dak ready to open the guitar case. He’d set the instrument in the corner with the rest of their gear, but now he brought it to the kitchen table and carefully unfastened the ties. The stitching in the leather was coming apart. Even in the room’s heat, it had only just started to dry out and still dripped when he held it up. It was meant to protect the instrument from a light rain. From wind and the dings and scratches from travel. It wasn’t meant to protect from a typhoon.

  The case opened, and he slipped the guitar out. The arm had splintered, snapped almost in half from the body, which was crushed in on one side. Loose strings twanged, bumping against each other. Dak turned it upside down and poured water out of what was left of the body.

  Enid burst into tears. Sloppy, stressed, grief-stricken tears. She’d never cried like this in her life, and she couldn’t seem to stop. She covered her face.

  “Oh, shh.” Dak put his arms around her and she clung to him.

  “I’m so sorry,” she managed to blubber out. “It’s my fault we got caught out, it’s my fault any of this happened, I’m so sorry—”

  “Enid. It’ll be fine. It’s okay. I’ll see if I can get it fixed. Or maybe find a new one. It’ll be fine.”

  He was just saying that to make her feel better. Where could he possibly find a new guitar? He must have gotten this one from somewhere, sure . . . but you couldn’t just walk into a market and find a guitar. What a terrible thing to happen to a precious object.

  She kept apologizing, and he kept comforting her . . . and it was all a little ridiculous. Abe sat them down by the fire for more rest. First, Dak carefully arranged the pieces of the guitar so it could dry. Maybe he really could save it and get it repaired.

  Abe made a pot of stew, and the whole group of them sat by the fire in the front room to eat. They clung to the companionship after the storm, craving safety in numbers.

  Dak picked at his food. Enid ate slowly, not feeling hungry but knowing she needed food. They hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of soggy fish jerky during the storm.

  “Hey,” he said. “It really was an adventure.”

  “We’re lucky we didn’t die.”

  “That’s what makes it an adventure.” He grinned at her and winked.

  She wondered if he was capable of taking anything seriously ever.

  The sun came out the next day, and the bright blue sky that shone through broken clouds made the previous week seem all the more surreal and distant. Weather was fickle and horrific. When Enid went outside, she still heard dripping everywhere. Water dripping off the roof into an overflowing cistern, trickling down the road in temporary streams, every tree and blade of grass soaked to the core. The air still felt wet, and she imagined she could see evaporation, moisture rising shimmering from the ground.

  She was ready to go. She itched to get home. Her clothes were mostly dry, her stomach was full, and she was still bone tired—but she was ready.

  Abe came out with her to look up the road. She’d been staring that way for five minutes, as if doing so would bring home closer.

  “How far are we from Haven?”

  “Four days on foot. There’s another way station two days on,” he said.

  Closer than she thought. They’d made more northward progress before the storm than she realized.

  “You think the road’s clear all the way?”

  He smiled. “If I say no, will that stop you?”

  Her blanket hadn’t dried yet—the thick wool would take days to dry completely and probably ought to spend some time outside in the fresh air. She tried to roll it up anyway, until Abe insisted on trading her out for a fresh one.

  Dak watched her from his chair in the front room. He didn’t pack, and she found she didn’t much care.

  When she was ready to go, she said goodbye to everyone, invited them to stay at her household in Haven, and promised Abe she’d send supplies to replace what she and Dak had used. She’d get herself assigned as messenger and bring them herself, and he gave her a hug and said that’d be fine.

  Dak had disappeared through all this. She found him outside, after she slung her pack and rolled blanket on her shoulder and was ready to set out. She figured he was hiding so he wouldn’t have to say goodbye.

  “Hola,” she said. He stood a few paces out on the footpath, arms crossed, looking off at the horizon like some hero in a story.

  “Are you sure you shouldn’t rest a few more days? You still look off.”

  Off? And what did that mean?

  “I really have to get back. They’ll need help,” she said, thinking of Peri and Tomas and everyone at Plenty. If the rains had been as bad there as they’d been here, roads could have washed out, trees fallen, who knew what else.

  “They’ll be fine, Enid. There’s plenty of people there who can take care of it. They don’t need you.”

  That punched her in the gut. By that definition—could they survive without her?—then no one needed her. No one needed anybody, not really. But that wasn’t the point.

  “You saying you do need me, is that it?” she asked wryly. Because it sounded like he was asking her to stay. But she didn’t believe him. Wouldn’t, unless he asked outright, and he’d never do that.

  “Dak, I want to go home.” Then, more calmly. “Do you want to come?”

  “No, Enid. I can’t. I can’t go any farther, not right now.”

  He seemed to be pleading with her. Like she was supposed to tell him she would stay, just because. And if she wanted him to come with her? What about that?

  “Well. Good luck, then,” she said. “Maybe we’ll run into each other.”

  “Yeah.”

  They should kiss or something. Or hug? There wasn’t a guarantee they’d ever see each other again. Well, he would always know where to find her—just go to Haven and ask. But by the same token, he would always know how to avoid her, and that would say something, too, wouldn’t it? This ought to be a sad moment.

  She reached out her hand because that seemed like a g
ood compromise. He clasped it, then leaned in for a kiss, warm lips pressing against her cheek. He lingered, waiting for her response. For her to tilt her head toward him, invite another kiss.

  All she did was give him a thin smile. She walked away and didn’t look back.

  //////////////////////////////////////////////////

  By now, Enid had spent a lot of time walking. She might have been so tired her muscles felt like wood, but she kept going, because the movements were so familiar. Easy, really. Sometimes easier than stopping. And the sun felt marvelous. She turned her face to it, letting it paint her skin with heat and turn her closed eyelids red and glowing. Part of her had worried that she would never feel it again.

  A few days to get to Haven. If she walked faster, might she make it quicker? If she kept walking through the night? That probably wasn’t the best idea. Or maybe it was—she’d never find a dry spot after that storm. Gullies that had been nearly dry a few months ago were roaring. Mudslides had taken out some hills. The slash of a fresh temporary creek bed cut a swath through one ten-foot stretch of road. Enid noted the location as best she could, so she could get word to a crew to come out to shore it up. And see what she had to do about helping restock the way station. They’d be out of supplies, after helping so many people. She was sure Plenty had some surplus stores they could send. Assuming Plenty was all right and hadn’t washed away in the storm.

  She walked faster.

  Other travelers were on the road, too, more as she approached Haven. A woman about her age cantered up on a sturdy gray horse, sloshing through mud, and pulled to a stop to greet her.

  “What’re things like farther on?” She was dressed for weather, a hat hanging on her back, with a heavy cloak and saddlebags stuffed with supplies.

  “Wet,” Enid answered. “Road’s washed out in a few places. The way station half a day’s walk is in good shape and taking care of folk. They haven’t gotten word from farther out yet. You been through Haven?”

  “No, I’m from out east. We’re okay, looks like the hills got the worst of it, but I thought I’d get out and ride my usual rounds, see if anything needs doing.” She was a messenger and knew the roads around here well. But Enid wished she had word from Haven.

  “I’m headed for Haven if you have anything for there,” Enid said. She did, a couple of messages, folded squares of paper marked for Haven’s committee. She’d planned on dropping them at the way station for the next messenger going north, but Enid would do just as well.

  “What about you?” the rider asked. “You have everything? Food and water?”

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  “Bien. Travel safe, then.”

  “You too.”

  And she was off, her horse splashing in puddles as she urged it forward.

  No solar cars were out—the roads were likely too treacherous for them, and the sun was still spotty and unreliable. Every time she passed others on foot, similar conversations happened: what’s it like, how are the roads, are you all right, and do you need anything? She gave her packets of raisin bread to a couple of men who were hoping to reach the next way station—they had a sheepherding station that had washed out and needed help. At least she was able to tell them that they were close.

  No one from Haven came along. Not until the next day.

  She ended up stopping for a few hours under a stand of cottonwoods that somehow hadn’t blown over in the storm. It was the driest patch of ground she could find, and she needed the sleep. But the night turned cold, and she didn’t think trying to start a fire was worth the effort. Despite it all, she managed to let go of enough tension to sleep for a little while, but as soon as she started awake, she figured she might as well keep moving. She’d stay warm if she walked.

  She wondered how Dak was doing, and where he’d decide to go when he left the way station. Maybe he’d come to Haven. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. It might be easier if he stayed away forever. Then she wouldn’t have to think about him anymore.

  When a lone figure came down the road toward her, she took notice. She was on a rise and saw him first. Whoever he was had a brown uniform—an investigator, out on some official business. Likely storm-related, and she wondered what. Was he coming from Haven? What was the news? She picked up her pace and got a better look at the shape of him, hair in a tail and a lanky stride. Then, she recognized him: of course, it was Tomas.

  Shouting his name, she ran. Somehow, after all this, her muscles were able to run. Time enough to rest when she got home. The man looked out at her. Laughing, he opened his arms, and she collapsed into a powerful hug. She had never clung to anyone so tightly.

  Finally, she let him go and he held her at arm’s length. She was almost as tall as he was; she’d forgotten, in the few months since being gone. Had too many memories of being a child around him. But now, it was almost like she was a real adult or something, no matter that she didn’t feel like it.

  “Enid! Are you okay? Please tell me you had shelter during that mess.” He glanced over her shoulder, surreptitiously looking around, but no, this stretch of road was open and no one could hide. Obviously he was curious, but he didn’t come out and ask where Dak was. She supposed she ought to explain that.

  “Um. We kind of got caught out in it. But I’m fine. Really, I’m fine. I just want to get home because no one’s had word about Haven and I got worried.” It came out in a rush, and she had so much more she wanted to tell besides—too many stories to tell. In the end she just said, “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

  He pressed his lips in a thin smile and nodded, maybe not satisfied with the answer but willing to accept it.

  “Haven’s a mess right now,” he said. “Some buildings down, roads washed out. Couple of injuries. It’ll be okay; folk are already cleaning up. I’m taking messages south to see if there’s anyone worse off needing help. Any news?”

  “Way station a couple days south has a lot of folk sheltering. They’ll have news if anyone does.” She held on to his arms. “What can I do? I want to help—what should I do?”

  “Get to Haven and start working. That’s it for now. You sure you’re okay?”

  She grinned wide. “Am now. It’s so good to see you, Tomas.”

  “And you! When I get back in a week or so, I want to hear all about your adventures.”

  She almost asked if she could go with him. She was so happy to see him, to see anyone that she knew, she didn’t want the reunion to end.

  But Haven needed help, and that was something she could accomplish right now.

  “All right,” she said, still beaming. “Be careful, yeah?”

  “You too.”

  They waved each other off and continued their journeys. For Enid, though, the world had righted itself. Everything was going to be fine.

  //////////////////////////////////////////////////

  For those of Enid’s generation, it was the worst storm any of them had seen. A full typhoon, it had lasted some three days and generated winds that blew down entire stands of trees, stripped fields of grain and orchards, knocked off roofs, and collapsed buildings. Older folk spoke of the last worst storm, and the one before that, trying to decide if any of them had been worse than this one. Enid didn’t understand how they could be.

  But no, previous storms had washed entire cities away. Haven still stood. They all still had a place, and if the harvest fell short this year, they’d make do with stores, get help from other towns, and they’d be all right. This had been a bad storm, but not the worst.

  It was Tomas who first suggested she think of becoming an investigator, a couple years after the storm. She’d become a messenger to the northern households and way stations, and did that for a year or so. Never ran into Dak again, and had stopped worrying that she might. She’d met Sam by then but hadn’t slept with him or fallen in love with him yet. Meeting Olive and Berol was still a little ways off, and building Serenity another little ways after that.

  “I think you’d be good
at it,” Tomas said. And also, she thought, the uniform didn’t scare her. Maybe that was all it took. So she started the process, which wasn’t as hard as it might have been since folk already knew her from her messenger rounds. She got the recommendations. Met Nan and started as her assistant. Kept on with it. Started wearing the uniform and mostly worried that she might disappoint Tomas. She spoke to him often about the job, about the effect the uniform had on people, about what she should look out for and how she should respond. She picked his brain and was grateful for his patience.

  “What’s the most important thing about being an investigator?” she asked. She was about to go off on a case as Nan’s enforcer for the first time. She was starting to build her own household. The world had gotten bigger than ever, and she sometimes felt very small indeed.

  Tomas hadn’t had to think about the answer.

  “Kindness, Enid,” he said. “We have to be kind.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN • PASADAN

  /////////////////////////////////////////////

  The World Might Not Remember

  In Auntie Kath’s journals, the transition from the old world to the new one had been gradual. No declarative note announced, “And now it has happened, this is the Fall.” She’d write of empathy for folk living in places half a world away destroyed by storms, Pacific islands vanishing under rising sea waters. Then the disasters moved closer. A pair of cousins displaced when tornados raged through their town. Family friends losing jobs in an economic recession that looked like the previous one, but this one became a depression and kept going on and on until it was normal. It was all so awful, but then it had all been so awful for such a long time, they hardly noticed a change in degree. Like a frog sitting in water slowly turned up to boiling. There wasn’t an anniversary of the day when the Fall happened. The process lasted years.

  When Kath’s parents died—that might have been the end of Kath’s old world, Enid decided. Not when the power grid failed, not when airplanes stopped flying. Their death marked a definitive date for the Fall, at least for Kath. Enid had this idea after Kath had died and so couldn’t ask her about it. But it was such a personal moment of destruction. The end of Kath’s old world, certainly, but for everyone else the tragedy would have been more distant, like Pacific islands drowning.