Chapters (47)
- Cover
- ALSO BY MARJORIE B. KELLOGG AVAILABLE FROM DAW BOOKS
- Dedication
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- About the Author
My den was called Unca Joe, for reasons best known to Cline Rousseau, its leader and founder, and a handful of older residents. Something to do with a favorite former den home, a few blocks away on Lafayette. The older dens cultivated their histories—Rubio would say, embroidered them—so I learned it well, if only secondhand. Encouraged a sense of stability, however illusory.
Next, you’ll ask: why? Like, as the seas rose and the storms pounded in one after the other, as life in the city got less and less manageable, why did anyone stay behind?
Us younger denfolk mostly didn’t get the choice. But early on, when the Melt was starting and evacs were merely recommended, there was always a core of diehards who refused to leave. Like Rubio’s parents, and later, Rubio, who swore it never occurred to him. My family too, had to be. Why else was I still here when Abel roared upriver? I didn’t feel this fixated loyalty to the Island, but I kind of did to my den. After all, it was all I knew.
On the street, Joe was said to be one of the good dens: well-organized, less infighting, better food and medical care, fewer casualties and less attrition, due to our rigorous training program, and reasonable rather than hardline discipline. Even Rubio agreed its success was largely due to Rousseau, who’d been into community organizing since the Twins, a double-header of superstorms back in the 2080s. Now at the far end of fifty, he’d had time to work things out.
“We don’t take in just anybody. Useful skills, a must.” The boss man would bend a stern eye at me or maybe Rivera, both recent newbies. “Of course, I made an exception in your case.” Then he’d toss a rueful shrug, like doubting the wisdom of his generosity. Always keeping us on edge, y’know?
The official version of the Joe creation myth begins with those first evacuations, while Greenland was still frozen and anyone who could moved uptown. With each successive superstorm, another sector went under water, and more services were lost. Going it alone downtown got tricky, so the die-hards who couldn’t afford to move gathered in groups, gangs, extended family units. As Rubio put it, things got tribal real fast.