She and Conner dropped their tanks inside the door. The building was still lined with drift. Dunes of it stood in the corners. An even coat covered the floor. Vic had flowed the sand like water as shed lifted the place, but not all of it had gotten out. It had puddled in places and congealed. Dozens of people were scattered across those piles of drift. Lanterns and candles filled the space in glow and shadow. These small flames beat back the darkness as the sun set outside, and Vic saw people pouring caps of water, ladling beer from barrels. Those few who had survived would flock here. It was the most unlikely of sanctuaries.
She saw her youngest brother Rob tending to a woman laid out on the sand. Her mother was moving from person to person with canteens. There was the smell of alcohol, and Vic saw someone cleaning a wound with a bottle from the bar, tipping it into a dishrag before gingerly dabbing at injured flesh. There were people there that she had pulled out of the sand. Some Conner had as well. They had both told people to seek out the Honey Hole. There were so many and yet not nearly enough.
Her mother Rose was directing the chaos. Several of her girls were still in their balcony getups, but now they moved through the bar tending to the sobbing, the wounded, the thirsty. Theres Palmer, Conner said, gesturing toward the stairs. Vic saw her brother hammering nails back into place, wiping the sweat from his forehead between blows. She hung her visor on the top of her dive tank and hurried over to him.
Whatre you doing? she asked, snatching the hammer away.
Her brother opened his mouth to complain, but then seemed to wobble. Vic steadied him. Conner was there as well. They guided him to a barstool while Palmer croaked about all that needed doing. The stairs are gonna collapse, he said.
Youre gonna collapse, Vic told him. Get him some water. And Conner hurried around the bar. Vic weighed the hammer in her hand. She could barely stand herself, was past the point of exhaustion, but she moved back to the stairs and started driving in the loose heads. Swinging back for another strike, a hand snatched her wrist.
What do you think youre doing? her mother asked. She took the hammer away and placed a steaming mug of stew in Vics hands. Sit. Eat. Youve been diving for hours.
Vic studied her mom, saw the creases of age in her face, the features so much like her own, and she saw the woman and not the profession, saw that this would be her in just a few years, exhausted, worn out, doing whatever it took to get by. She started to apologize, she wasnt sure what for, but couldnt form the words. And then she found herself fighting the urge to cry, to sob, to hold her mother and smear tears and snot into the crook of her neck, to tell her about Marco, how great a guy he was even if he was caught up with the wrong people, how he was dead along with so many thousands more. But she fought this and won. She allowed herself to be guided to the bar, where she sat and spooned stew between her lips, doing what she was told because she knew she needed the sustenance, because she knew her mother was right.
Palmer drank beer from a jar, probably to save water for someone else. Conner was given his own bowl of stew. Rob joined them, pulled from the crowd by the gravitational tug of so much family all in one place, and Vic tried to remember the last time theyd been together like this. She caught her mom giving her a look like she was having the same thought.
How bad is it? her mother asked. And Vic had been wrong. Her mother was thinking on more than just family.
Pretty much all of Springston, Vic said. She stirred her stew. The east wells will have to be re-dug. Theyre buried. The pumps with them.
Conner stiffened. I need to go see about the pump in Shantytown. And I need to find
The Shantytown pump wont be enough to water everyone, Vic told him. How many people from that side of town came over here to the cisterns?
What about Dads advice? Conner asked, turning to their mom. Maybe we should go west like Father said.
Vics spoon froze halfway to her mouth. Stew dribbled onto the bar. When did Dad ever say we should go live in the mountains?
Not in the mountains, Rob told her. Over them.
Vic turned and
studied her little brother, who was perched on a barstool. You need to stick to water, she told him, thinking hed been into the beer.
Rose placed a hand on Vics shoulder. Palmer was looking at her funny. What? she asked Palmer. Whats that look about? It was as though everyone else knew something she didnt.
Dont freak out, Palmer said. I just learned a few hours ago.
Let her eat, their mother said. Then, to Vic, Finish your stew, and then I need you to come upstairs with me.
Upstairs? Vic felt her palms go clammy. Felt that old terror swell up within her. She didnt think anything would get her up those stairs ever again. She had a sudden compulsion to yank out the few nails shed driven in, to yank them all out so no one could ever climb those stairs again, not her or her mother or anyone. Why do you want me to go upstairs? Vic asked.