“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I said.

We ran for the door. We ran as fast as we could, not thinking to drop the precious things we had gathered, even as they slowed us down.

Finally, far away, we stopped. I looked over at Mo.

“We don’t know that he’s dead,” I said.

He was shaking. “Please, please don’t tell my wife.”

I looked down, breathing hard. As I bent over my knees, I saw that my fancy Italian boots were splattered in blood.

Part Five Evann—December

PART FIVE

EVANN—DECEMBER

1 When Bernice hit, the lights were out for the longest time. You watched the news, and the newsmen didn’t want to be out after dark in the city, even with the protection of the TV camera on them, broadcasting to the whole world. The lights stayed out in the city for the longest time, except the few solar-powered streetlights that hadn’t been washed away. The bridges were ruined, the tunnels were a nightmare, and the only way to get back there was by boat or helicopter. But I had to get back. I had to see what had become of that quaint little place that I loved so much, and the little garden out my window.

Me and Pollock were staying at my dad’s compound in-state, and he didn’t want me to go into the city at all. We talked about it while I was sitting around in my room, listening to the Lounge Lizards. I have all their albums in my cloud, and also the real, old copies in my physical record collection. I want to like them, I do. I really want to understand their music. It’s nice, it is. And John Lurie was great. He was at Basquiat’s funeral and everything, and he supposedly even had the idea for the boxing photos that Basquiat did with Warhol. I own the original Bear Surprise and everything. Their music is passionate, which I love. But also frustrating, if you understand what I mean. It’s so strange. But I want to like it, so I listen to it over and over.

So I was sitting there listening to this kind of wild jazz, and Pollock was sleeping on my bed, looking like an angel, and my dad was really annoying me about me not going back. Not yet, he said, not with the people who’d been left behind roaming around the streets in packs.

“Fath-er,” I said, screeching the arm off the old record. I only call him that when I’m upset. “You can’t just refer to people in terms of animals. They’re human beings.”

“My little darling,” my dad said, condescending as anything, “there is no way you’re going into that city without proper protection.”