Anonymity (10 page)

EMILY'S MOBILE rang much too early. She didn't answer. None of her friends would call so early. Next she heard her text alert. Her e-mail chimed in another room. Somebody really wanted her attention.

On voicemail, a somber sounding man warned Emily that she lived in a flood-prone area. She was advised to evacuate. The evacuation wasn't mandatory, but Emily knew enough about Austin's flood history that she wasn't going to risk it.

She made tea and checked the weather outside her front door. It was windy and pouring so hard that she was instantly covered in a fine mist from the blow. The flood in her street was deep enough for a small boat to navigate. That got her attention.

Emily had to move fast to get out of the city in her tiny car. Outbound lanes would be open, but bridges going downtown were always closed during flood warnings. Every year some yahoo tried to cross a closed bridge and ended up with his car swept away, usually while he was still in it.

Emily called her parents. Her father answered on the first ring.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“I'm coming home. They're suggesting people evacuate the city.”

“Well, come on then. Your mother's making chili.”

Her mother came on. “Emily, you be careful in that little car.”

“I will.”

“And don't forget that rain slicker and those boots I got you.”

“Oh, yeah. Those. Okay. I'm packing now. I'll see you in about an hour.”

“Take some water and a few granola bars. You know, in case you get stranded or something.”

“Should I take a jar to pee in too?”

“Well, Miss Smarty. That might not be a bad idea.”

Emily grabbed the cat carrier out of the hall closet and set it by the back door. Skinny Cat wasn't on the front porch. He didn't come when she called. While she waited for him, Emily moved things to higher ground. Important papers and photo albums went in the top of a closet. She hoped her shelves were tall enough that her books wouldn't suffer.

She packed clothes, jewelry, laptop and camera equipment—anything looters would steal. In no time, Emily had a good-sized pile of duffle bags, backpacks and organic grocery bags filled with precious things.

She grabbed a flashlight and batteries. She stuffed a favorite pillow and a blanket into a garbage bag and threw it by the back door. Dressed in her raincoat and rubber boots, Emily tromped across the backyard to the MINI. It was only a short distance away, but it was hard to make out in the squall. Puddles were already six inches deep in places. Emily squeezed into her car, her slick coat squeaking against the seat. She backed up to the kitchen door where the awning covered the stoop to the cargo area of her car.

As she loaded the back of the MINI, she called and called for Skinny Cat. When the weather got rough he'd always come for an extended stay. Emily saw movement in the storm and waited for him to show. A phantom shape appeared at the edge of the road.

Emily watched a figure materialize, tall and lanky, in no hurry to get out of the drenching rain. As the person came closer she recognized the girl from the streets. How had she found her?

Tino had suspected somebody of making fires in Group's patio dish after he found six charred buttons. They had all figured it was Lorelei. And now it seemed she had followed Emily home at some point too.

The drenched figure walked with her head hung, braced against the downpour and wind. When the girl reached the back door, she stopped and stood in the rain.

“Lorelei?”

She turned her face up. She was pale, her lips waxy.

“What are you doing here?”

“All the shelters are full. I got nowhere else to go.”

Water dripped from her nose and trembling chin.

“Well, don't just stand there. Come inside.”

She left her wet things outside the door. Water dribbled off her onto the kitchen floor.

Her hair was plastered against her skull. Her skin was nearly colorless and the most prominent part of her was the swirl of inky tattoo that slashed the side of her face. She was otherworldly.

“I was just leaving,” Emily said.

“I got no place else.”

“Yeah, you said that. What about the shelter, the drop-in?”

“They're full.”

“What about the churches downtown? They almost always open up for extreme weather like this.”

Emily couldn't, absolutely wouldn't take this girl to her parents’ house. But she couldn't leave her here, either. It might become a danger zone. She couldn't put her back out in the rain.

“What do you want me to do?” Emily asked her.

“I'm cold.”

Emily's tea had gone forgotten in her haste. She stuck it in the microwave and thought about her options while she watched the mug on its slow rotation. The machine's merry ding was disconcerting. She handed Lorelei the mug.

The girl took an appreciative sip.

“Thank you.”

“I have to leave. They're evacuating the areas around the river.”

“I heard.”

Her mother always hated it when Emily brought Skinny Cat with her. She was going to flip out when she saw this stray.

“Let's go,” Emily said.

“What?”

“Get in the car. We're going to my parents’ house.”

“Can't I just stay here?”

“No. You can't. You can either come with me or you're on your own. I can't take you downtown. I'm sure all the neighborhood bridges are closed and probably the big ones are all outbound by now. We have to leave.”

Emily grabbed two garbage bags from under the sink.

“Here, sit on this. This one's for your pack and stuff. They're too wet just to throw in.”

Lorelei bagged her things and shoved them in among Emily's stuff. She spread the plastic bag on the passenger seat and climbed in. Emily took one last look around for Skinny Cat, but he was still at large.

“Good luck,” she whispered. “To both of us.”

AUSTIN CHANGED after Katrina laid waste to New Orleans. Like a lot of urban areas within driving distance, Austin got thousands of hurricane evacuees. When the clouds lifted over Louisiana, there was, as they say, no “there” there, so people stayed where they were. But low-income housing was scarce, and once FEMA terminated rental assistance, Austin's homeless population hit crisis proportions.

This time the bad weather was on the Texas coast and a new wave of weather refugees swept Austin mere hours ahead of Gordon. Motels filled, even the skanky low-priced ones. People without rooms were taken in by the city's emergency shelters in churches, rec centers and in various buildings and gyms on campus.

Gordon flushed street kids from the urban creeks and filled the Tumbleweed Center's facilities quickly. The drop-in and emergency housing were beyond capacity. The clinic stayed open for the night. David had kids doubled up in transitional housing. When there was no more room, David tried to send the needy to various churches, but he soon got texts that there was no room anywhere.

Food and blankets ran out, but nobody complained. Volunteers had showed up with supplies earlier, but not enough. Once the storm passed, the inventory of basic supplies would have to be replenished, which would be difficult.

The kids had been quick to stake out space in the drop-in. Sleeping bags were scattered where different groups clustered—the animal lovers in one area, the gay kids in another. The Emo kids gathered around the computers. David had heard that Goth was out and Emo was in, but he couldn't yet tell the nuances of their undead looks. Druggies huddled in a corner. The drop-in had a strict no-using policy, but half the kids came in already altered.

They were a unique bunch—lip rings, choppy hair, tats, gauges, dreadlocks, bleached cut-offs, Argyle socks, frayed coveralls, fedoras, plaid chucks, ripped skirts, ratty knitted hats and flannel shirts. Their lives hung from carabineers hooked through belt loops and packs. Most of the kids had acne. The boys had all manner of struggling facial hair. Some wore cheap aviator sunglasses that boasted dirty glamour, like young Hollywood gone to seed. They were a wet and smelly bunch, but they had style.

David picked his way across the sea of sleeping bags, stopping to talk, taking inventory, looking for some of the younger ones. A few kept up a persistent cough. David made note of infected piercings. One kid cupped his hand to his cheek, a sure sign of a toothache.

“Hey, Mr. D. Zup?”

“Looking good, Mr. D.”

Freestyle was kicked back on the couch next to Minion. His eye seemed to have healed. He used a Sharpie to draw on his skateboard—skeletons and flames.

The last time David saw Minion he was busking on the front steps of University Baptist, strumming his guitar with his hat on the sidewalk. He'd propped up a cardboard sign that read
Need money for new strings.
David didn't usually give out cash, but he'd slipped him a five. He figured Mook and Elda had gone to Mook's mother's apartment. David looked around for Lorelei, the new addition to that tribe.

“Hey, how you guys doing?” he asked them.

Freestyle didn't answer.

Minion said, “Everything's cool.”

“You seen Lorelei around?”

“Nah. We left her at the creek. She was going to some friend's house.”

He doubted that.

Minion picked a few notes on his guitar. “Hey, man, thanks for the fiver. Got new strings. Listen.” He launched into The Cure's
Boys Don't Cry.
The room grew quiet. David surveyed the kids while he played. People sang low. The drop-in's windows rattled and lights flickered. David had been through similar situations, and he figured that at some point the power would fail.

In the entryway, behind a baby gate, a scraggly yellow dog slept next to a matted collie-mix. The yellow dog raised his head and stared vacantly at the guitar player before lowering himself back down. David scratched each dog in turn, but they both seemed too exhausted to be appreciative.

The drop-in was one of the few shelters that welcomed pets. Homeless animals were usually well-socialized and sweet-natured. Some were family pets kids didn't want to leave behind to be abused. Others were strays taken in by empathetic hearts. Animal friends provide warmth, protection and unconditional love in a cruel and uncertain world. Why leave them out in the rain?

Travis scratched the dogs’ ears again, then he went on outside to check on a faulty drainpipe by the door. The drop-in was at a high spot in the county, a whopping eight hundred feet above sea level, so the water flooding the entrance posed little danger. He'd meant to fix the broken downspout, but that project always got moved down his to-do list.

After a few tries, David jury-rigged the downspout to reroute the water away from the steps. He stood looking out at vacant, flooded streets. It was odd to see no traffic or pedestrians.

The city had gone more than half the year without a drop and now this deluge of destruction would be ruinous. Pease Park down on Shoal Creek would be a mud pit. Lots of the urban camping spots would be unusable. The drop-in would be swamped with increased demand for services for weeks.

The storm would shake up the kids’ fragile social structure and make them scramble for resources. There would be fights over squatting rights, over blankets and clothes and food.

When it stopped raining and the water receded, Austin would have visible wounds—millions in real estate damages, business closings and infrastructure issues.

But the real tragedy in such violent weather was death.

It wouldn't be the students in their campus dorms or the business people who had fled to the suburbs who died. It wouldn't be the folks in Penbrooke, the fancy neighborhood uphill from Shoal Creek, or those in downtown apartments with sunset views who were swept away. It would be the homeless who vanished, washed out of their hovels and drainpipes and camps. Nobody would even notice when these people were gone.

SHE EASED the MINI onto the main road. Vehicles crawled along in the middle lanes. She avoided the outside lanes where solid streams rushed past them down toward the Colorado. Storm sewers bubbled with brown water and trash.

They passed Bouldin Creek Coffeehouse and Emily's favorite Mexican bakery. She saw a flash of hunger in Lorelei's eyes.

“Here, have an energy bar and a bottle of water,” she said.

Emily struggled to find the correct gear to forge ahead against the water's force. Lorelei shivered and Emily turned on the heat. She cursed herself for not suggesting Lorelei change into dry clothing before they left.

The exit onto MoPac was clogged with traffic, but they inched forward until they made it on. Her tiny car weaved and wobbled against the maelstrom on the raised highway.

“How far is it?” Lorelei asked.

“On a good day I can get there in twenty minutes. Today, who knows?”

Traffic thinned as they moved away from downtown. The windshield fogged with moisture and body heat. Emily handed Lorelei an old shirt from the back.

“Can you wipe the condensation away?”

She leaned forward and erased the fog, but it formed again, mirroring her swipes. The rain came in waves, so hard it was impossible to see past the headlamps. Between the fogged windows and the rain and the gale force winds, Emily's nerves were frayed. She decided to pull over on the shoulder and wait for a break in the storm.

“Pray somebody doesn't rear end us,” she said as she set the hazard lights flashing.

Lorelei seemed unfazed. Emily was suddenly glad the girl was with her. She was calm and Emily realized that she'd probably seen a lot more difficult situations than this.

They sat in the quivering car, looking out at the taillights of vehicles creeping past. Even at slow speeds their rooster tails of water engulfed the MINI.

“This is some crazy storm,” Lorelei said.

“I hope my cat's okay.”

“He'll be fine. Cats are tough.”

Water thrummed against the driver's side.

“Maybe I should call my mother,” Emily said. “She's probably worried.”

Lorelei pursed her lips and rolled her eyes slightly.

Emily's face burned. She realized that the tone of her voice had made her sound weak. Sure, Barbara would be worried, but Emily decided not to call.

Emily squeaked as she tried to shed the raincoat.

Lorelei gave her another strange look.

“A gift from my mother. Attractive, right?”

The girl grinned.

“Can you help me?”

Lorelei yanked on one sleeve until Emily could pull herself free.

“Thanks. It's like a freaking sauna in here,” she said.

“Got any music?” Lorelei asked.

“How about some Stevie Ray?”

“Why does everybody in this whole town listen to that lame stuff?”

“Stevie Ray's a god.”

“To you maybe. You got any Radiohead or Beck or Green Day?”

All musicians who provided anthems for displaced, disgruntled youth.

“Or Pink maybe?” she suggested.

“Sure. Pink's cool. I've got her on my iPod, but I only have a CD player in my car.”

“Do you like I'm Not Dead? I like that song on it called
Dear Mr. President.
It's about homelessness and politics and stuff.”

“How about something a little more relaxing, considering our situation? Maybe some Regina Spektor?”

“She's a little whiney, but okay.”

“It's in the glove box.”

Lorelei found the CD and pushed it into the player. A mellow voice warbled out, but it was hard to hear over the rain. Emily couldn't take both and was glad when Lorelei gave up and abandoned the music.

As if she were reading Emily's mind, Lorelei said, “I'm sorry I smell so bad.”

Emily was unsure how to respond, so she said nothing.

“I know I stink.”

“That's okay. I'm guessing you can't help it.”

“I go to the drop-in and shower a couple of times a week, but this week I've only had a McBath.”

“A what?”

“You know. At McDonald's.”

Emily found that amusing, but she didn't dare laugh.

Looking back over her shoulder, Lorelei said, “You can pull out now. Don't be a wuss. Nobody's going to hit you.”

“If they did, we'd be toast. All those massive SUVs would run right over my little car.”

“Sometimes you've got to take chances. We can't sit here forever.”

“This car's really old.”

“Why don't you get a new one?”

“Because it runs fine. Besides, I don't have any money for a new one.”

“Aren't your parents rich?”

“No. Why would you think that?”

Lorelei didn't answer. She was studying the traffic situation behind them.

“Go now,” she said. “Nothing's coming.”

With caution lights flashing, Emily eased back onto the highway. An hour later, they arrived at Gerald and Barbara's house.

“I thought you said your parents aren't rich.”

How could she explain that her parents were not congenitally wealthy like the Texas oil families and the celebrities and dot-comers who lived in lavish Mediterranean homes on the limestone bluffs that ringed the lakes? That her father hadn't had a good job in nearly five years, and that she feared money problems would eventually destroy her parents’ marriage?

“They're not rich. They're in debt.”

“Then why do they live in such a big house and drive such nice cars?”

“That's what keeps them in debt. It's called ‘living above your means.’”

Emily gripped the steering wheel and considered her childhood home. She knew it would be a relentless undercurrent of tension inside. Either Lorelei would diffuse the situation or make it unbearable.

“You don't want to go in,” Lorelei surmised.

“Not really.”

“Why not?”

“I suspect for many of the same reasons you don't want to go home. I don't get along with my parents that well. Not my mom anyway.”

“So why come home?”

Emily chewed her lip and wondered why herself.

“It's not like that. I don't hate them. They're not bad people. They're just so…Republican.”

Lorelei nodded understanding. “I hear you.”

“It's better now that I'm an adult, but my mother still tries to tell me what I should do. How I should live.”

“Bet it's not as bad as when you're a kid. Eat this. Eat that. Go to bed. Do your homework. Show some respect.”

The girl had a point. “No. You're right,” Emily said. “It's not like being a kid.”

Emily could see Lorelei bracing for this new situation. The tattoo coiled up the side of her smooth cheek pulsed when she tightened her jaws.

“How long are we staying?” she asked.

“Until they say it's safe to go back downtown or until I can't stand it any longer. Whichever comes first.”

The front door opened and Barbara appeared. She held her arms crossed in front of her and even through the rain Emily could see her expectant look. She should have called her.

“That your mom?”

“That's her.”

“She's kind of intimidating.”

“You got that right. Leave your stuff in the car. We can get it all later.”

This seemed to make Lorelei uneasy.

“Your stuff's safe. Believe me. It's better this way.”

“Okay.”

“You ready?”

“I guess. This is going to be weird.”

Emily put her hand on the door's handle and prepared for the deluge.

“You have no idea.”