Marcus heard Shawn’s mother wailing on the rooftop a few blocks away. He and Fitz paddled steadily in grim silence.

The sound of morning animals rose around them. Seagulls and sandpipers chirped, squawked, and sometimes alighted on the water nearby to peck at a morsel. Gray clouds grew thinner, and the sun peeked over rooftops. The humid air warmed by the minute.

“I shoulda gone in after him,” Fitz said finally.

“No sense in you both dying,” Marcus replied.

“We need you,” Esme croaked and squinted an eye open. “You may not have saved that boy, but you’re saving my kids right now.”

Marcus’s stomach tightened at that. I guess I’m just along for the ride.

Fitz blinked and turned his face.

“I thought alligators only attacked when provoked,” Marcus said.

“Little guys, yeah, less than five feet long,” Fitz said, hiding a sniffle with a short cough.

“Not the big ones, though?”

“Gators longer than about eight feet are the biggest threat. Our gators see plenty of people and they get used to ‘em. Makes them bolder to come after you.”

“Where did he take the kid?” Marcus asked. “Why didn’t he resurface?”

“Marcus!” Esme snapped.

Marcus noticed Matty staring at the two adult men, eyes wide.

“Sorry,” Marcus muttered.

“Why, Mr. Fitz?” Matty pushed. “Where’d he go?”

“Don’t worry about it, young man,” Fitz replied.

“Tell me!” the boy whined.

“Your mama said no.”

“Moooommmmmmm!”

Esme sighed and grimaced. “Whatever. It’s fine.”

Fitz shrugged. “He might’ve carried him off somewhere after rolling him.”

“What?” Marcus asked.

“During an attack, gators clamp down on an arm or leg, then spin you underwater until you drown.”

Marcus shuddered.

I haven’t seen many, but I’ve been called to attack scenes. Alligators mostly go after small pets or young children. But the bigguns…well, they’ll chase most anything,” Fitz added.

“Is that why you know all about alligators?” Matty asked in awe.

Fitz chuckled. “Naw, my boy was obsessed with them. He collected dozens of books about them, plastered posters all over his wall, and liked to quiz me every night before bed.”

“What’s his name?” Marcus asked.

“Patrick — Pat.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s grown,” Fitz said. “Working on an oil rig in the Gulf.”

“You guys close?”

Fitz hesitated. “I don’t see him, really. We lost his momma when he was 13.”

“Geez, I’m sorry, man.”

“I wasn’t chief in those days. A firefighter doesn’t make for a great single dad,” Fitz murmured. “I left him alone too much. And he was so angry…”

Marcus glanced toward Esme. Her breathing had quieted—she was listening, too.

“I guess we never recovered. My son pursued whatever risky hobby he was able to find. People told me it was normal. Teenagers had to get it out of their system. But I think he was trying to numb his pain with adrenaline. Thank God he avoided the drug scene. But he picked one of the most dangerous jobs in the world, and he drinks too much.”

“I’m sure you did everything possible,” Esme said between breaths. “That sounds tough.”

Fitz tipped his head in thanks.

“Does your son stay on his rig during hurricanes?” Marcus asked after a few moments.

“No, they evacuate before the storm hits.”

“Where?”

“All over, but probably to one of the evacuation centers nearby.”

“So, he could be at our destination?”

Fitz hmphed. “I guess so. Didn’t even think about that.”

“I’d love to shake his hand and tell him how grateful I am to his dad,” Marcus said.

Fitz offered a sad smile in answer.

***

Sofia blinked up at the lightening sky. Streaks of blue showed between wisps of white and gray.

“Where are we headed, hun?” Jeanie asked as she walked beside her on the damp concrete sidewalk.

“I didn’t ask you to come.”

“That ain’t what I asked.”

“I dunno where I’m going. Just not…there.”

“Well, I’m about ready to eat my leg off,” Jeanie said cheerily. “How about we find some breakfast?”

“Where? Denny’s?” Sofia scoffed.

“I’d kill for a stack of pancakes with a side of greasy bacon,” Jeanie answered, unphased. “What’s your favorite mornin’ meal?”

“I don’t wanna talk, lady.”

“Jeanie.”

Sofia rolled her eyes and picked up her pace.

“There!” Jeanie called out.

Reluctantly, Sofia turned to follow Jeanie’s gaze. A small storefront window had broken. The sign above read, “Food Saver Express.”

“You want to rob them?” Sofia asked.

“Something else broke the glass,” Jeanie said. “And I’ll leave a note with my number. But this is a real-life emergency, sweetie. And you need some sustenance.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Bullshit.”

Sofia’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and she fought to keep her lips from forming a smile.

“Let’s go!” Jeanie marched past her teenage companion and crossed the street quickly. Sofia followed at a slower pace.

“Watch out for the glass,” the older woman cautioned as Sofia approached the window. Thick, clear, jagged triangles lined the bottom of the frame: a row of menacing teeth. The store’s dim interior smelled musty and sweet. A large display of stacked soda cans had fallen and burst, coating the floor in a sticky flood.

Sofia found an impressive selection of snacks down one aisle and plucked a family-size bag of Lays BBQ potato chips and a 2-liter Pepsi.

Jeanie’s joyous whoop echoed from a nearby shelf. “Check this out, hun!”

When she rounded the corner a few aisles down, Sofia almost laughed. A small display of ugly outdoor furniture sat around a tiny fire pit. Jeanie had plopped onto the thin brown cushion of a wicker loveseat. She looked up at Sofia and guffawed in delight.

“Maybe we can ride out the rest of this ordeal in comfort,” Jeanie said.

Sofia lowered onto a matching armchair and grimaced at the cheap material that poked into her bare skin.

“Not fancy enough for you, eh?” Jeanie said wryly.

Without a word, the teenager pulled open her chips and dug in.

Jeanie got up to explore. A few minutes later, she returned with a jug of sweet tea and a bag of teriyaki-flavored beef jerky.

“We’ll probably end up at that center eventually,” Jeanie said.

Sofia stilled.

“And I sure hope you’ll point this fella out to me when you see him. Sounds like he could use a swift kick to the nuts.”

An involuntary laugh shot out of Sofia’s mouth, along with a few globs of partially chewed chips. Jeanie chuckled and took a swig of her tea.

“Already tried that,” Sofia said, wiping at her lips. “Didn’t work. It only made him madder.”

Jeanie nodded, face turning solemn. “I used to talk with at-risk women. You know what that means?”

Sofia shrugged.

“I helped girls escape the guys constantly beating up on ‘em. I met this woman once named Amy. She had a baby at fifteen, then another at seventeen. Lived with her boyfriend and his parents in a pretty nice-lookin’ house.” Jeanie shifted in her seat and opened her beef jerky with a snap. The savory smell filled the air.

“Amy would chat me up, all covered in bruises. Sometimes she had broken bones. I’d offer to call someone…drive her to a domestic violence shelter. She always had an excuse, a reason. Amy never denied he hit her. No, instead, she would defend him: she had started the fight, or mouthed off—”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Sofia said.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“But, I don’t…like…let people beat me up.”

“Then why’d he do that to you?”

“He wanted…me.”

“He smacked you around because he liked the idea of some sex with you? That’s not how it goes.”

“He did, and I didn’t, so he got mad. But I flirted with him and hung out with him…”

“So, you owed him something? Look at me, Sofia.”

The young woman lifted her gaze, eyes lined with moisture.

“That guy is a bastard for what he did to you. And I’m gonna make sure the police get him—unless I find him first.”

Sofia put her face in her hands and let the tears fall.

Editor: Lucy Cafiero